


Wylfings

by KTfromTHEstix



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst - kinda a lot, Babies - couple of those, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff - yep that too, Smut - kinda a lot, Vikings/Saxons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 71,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26259145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTfromTHEstix/pseuds/KTfromTHEstix
Summary: Geralt of Ravndal is the fearless Viking leader of the Wolf Clan, and he will stop at nothing to do what is best for his people. Yennefer of Essex is the only daughter of a Saxon noble who must bow to the mighty forces invading his lands. Geralt is used to getting what he wants, and unfortunately for Yennefer, he has his eye set on more than gold and riches.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Tissaia de Vries & Vesemir
Comments: 592
Kudos: 225





	1. Barbarian

**\- Essex 902 A.D. -**

The hooves of his powerful horse beat like a mighty war drum into the soft Saxon sod. Vivid white hair twisted and curled down his neck, while shorn shorter on the sides in the tradition of his people. He was a mountain of a man, surrounded on either side by two equally large warriors, all three determined to raid and pillage until there was naught but ash and bone, woman and young children remaining.

Nearly eighty approached the sprawling Essex estate, each one of them more barbaric and fearsome than the last. “Riders, to the North.” The dark haired man to his left shouted. The leader nodded, and he and the two men behind him broke off from the group and aimed their horses at the small group of three riders that also approached the lower courtyard.

They were Norsemen, Vikings, giant men perched atop horses pilfered from the last two estates they ransacked. Their ships were nearly brimming with stolen goods, but they sought one last haul of treasures and supplies.

Three hundred men stood to defend the manor, and yet the eighty invaders retained the strategic advantage. They were big, skilled, and rumored to be exceedingly brutal. Anyone who interfered with their plans met a merciless death. The raiders waited in the hauntingly abandoned courtyard while a small team of men breached the wall with the intent of lowering the drawbridge for the rest.

The small contingent that had intercepted the riders returned, splattered with the first blood of the day. “Three dead,” the man reported, “and this hellcat.” The leader’s second in command, Eskel, winced and leaned forward on his mount. She had been digging her elbows into his back, and when he moved, she pitched forward off of the horse and landed in a pile of white skirts in the grass. Her hands were bound and a cloth from Eskel’s saddlebags was wadded in her mouth as a gag.

“You did this?” The white haired giant asked.

“The gag and the bindings. She’s a comely woman, but her mouth is vile.” As if to emphasize his point, she hissed around the cloth and squirmed to free her hands. Their leader tossed his leg and dismounted, bending over the struggling woman. “Take care Geralt, there’s evil in her.”

She was incredibly beautiful. Her thick, curly hair was black as night and fanned out in the grass beneath her to her trim waist. The white dress she wore clung to her curves and heaved her bosom up conveniently for his inspection. Her expression was furious as she muttered, and he imagined cursed, into Eskel’s gag. Her face was pleasantly proportioned and her bone structure delicate, but it was her violet eyes that reached out to grab him by the neck. They stole the breath from his lungs.

Entranced, he squatted down and bent to pull the gag from her plump, rosy lips. She promptly hauled back and spit in his face. The other man, Lambert, drew his sword. The rest waited with baited breath to see his reaction. They knew he would sooner kill her than beat a woman.

He wiped his face clean and looked at her curiously. “Where is your fear, girl?”

Her eyes went wide with indignation. “Saved for someone more worthy than a filthy Viking barbarian.” Her tone was cutting. “Leave this land, before you end up a pitiful corpse dragged behind an ass to the refuse pits.” She snarled.

The men were outraged. Never had a woman spoken so brazenly insulting in front of them, and certainly not to the _White Wolf_ himself. The Wylfings clan was legend among their people, known for their cunning and lethal brute force on the battlefield. It would take three Saxon men to make a fair fight with one of their warriors, and the slip of a woman had certainly just dug her own grave.

Geralt remained stoic, absorbing her insults and quietly thinking to himself. “What is your name?”

She snorted in an unladylike fashion. “You may call me _savior_. Now take my gift of warning and leave, never to return to this place!” She was yelling in Geralt’s face. The last man to yell at him was rotting in a shallow grave somewhere in the north country.

Eskel readied a long blanket, prepared to pull her body behind them when they entered the keep. She was clean and well kempt, and gold studs shone from her delicate ear lobes in the morning sun. They would be able to use her death to their advantage. Fear, was a heady weapon.

Lambert tried to hand Geralt the hilt of his broadsword, but instead of accepting it, he tossed back his head and a booming laugh poured fourth. She looked all the more insulted, and Lambert and Eskel looked to each other, puzzled.

Geralt mounted his mammoth horse again and motioned to Eskel. “Take her with you.”

Eskel’s shoulders sagged with understanding. “To the river then, I won’t be more than a minute.”

Lambert spoke up, “Drowning borders on mercy Geralt, may I dispose of her for you? My sword is itching to meet her neck.”

“No, neither of those.”

Again, Eskel was confused. “Wolf, what is it you’re wanting to do with her?” She peered up at their leader from her place in the grass.

“I plan to keep her.”

\------

\- Two Months Earlier, Geralt -

The seer’s cave was roughly an hour’s ride from the village, and yet she seemed to know everything about it’s inhabitants. Geralt had come to see her many times as a child, and even more so when he became the only living son of the clan’s leader. His fate would be to lead, and he sought her sage advice and more often cryptic prophecies.

No one know how she came into her gift, whether born with it or if she developed it later in her life. Along with the benefit of her knowledge, her condition was certainly a curse. While her skin was young and supple, her actual vision was most certainly gone and she kept her eyes covered by black cloth wraps at all times. 

Geralt dismounted and tethered his horse to a nearby tree, holding his gift close. He brought her a beautiful pewter clock, one he had acquired on his last voyage west to the isles. The entrance was well hidden under the jut of a mysterious rock formation, and he walked for long minutes until he reached what could only be deemed her lair. 

Long, dark hair rolled from under the black wraps, and she didn’t turn her head when she addressed him. “Geralt of Ravndal! It’s been months, what have you for me today?” Her voice was gravely and belied the apparent youth of her skin. She reclined in a beautifully upholstered chair, most certainly a gift from one of her prior customers.

He set the clock on the rudimentary table in front of her. “I think I need not tell you what you already know Philippa.”

She snapped at him harshly, “Since when are you bold enough to use my name, boy?”

He didn’t know how old she was in truth, but something told him she had once called his father _boy_ as well. “My apologies. It is my apprehension and excitement that clouds my judgment.”

She seemed appeased. “A very fruitful voyage awaits you.” She smiled, her perfect white teeth shining in the shadows of the damp cave.

“Should I aim my fleet north or south on this voyage? The more successful my trip, the better offerings I will have for you.” He baited her.

“Head to the south. Bypass East Anglia and visit the small country below. I predict you will find your most treasured possession, laid right out on the grasses for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was supposed to be taking a week or two off to rest my brain. Instead I've been writing this little piece, whoops! 
> 
> Ravndal - Real Viking village  
> Wlyflings - actual Viking clan, "Wolf Clan" 
> 
> Noteworthy - This fic will be rated E for smut, and will contain themes including attempted suicide and questionable consent. [This will _not_ include rape, but due to the historical setting, all affected parties are not, shall we say, thrilled.] Now that I've scared you all away, I think I'm just being extra cautious, but I don't like tagging every little thing and giving it away right from the git. :) 
> 
> Anyway, I've got this at least half way written and I'm excited to see if it interests you like it has myself and my bff unofficial beta DarkGlowingLight. :D Thank you LozaMoza for your encouragement :D  
> Thanks for humoring me!


	2. Bastard

-Yennefer-

She had been at sea with the lousy curs for two weeks, and she’d yet to learn any of their names barring the one assigned to her. They didn’t trust her, didn’t speak to her, didn’t look at her. She was naught but a ghost to them and to her own family. In exchange for his eldest child and sizable amount from her father’s treasury, the heathens left Essex without so much as a look back. They had been after a complete pillage of the estate, but the lure of Vilgefortz’s purse was too much to pass up.

That fact and the simple truth, was that their ships were already full. She shuddered at the thought of how many of her innocent countrymen died at the hands of the smelly pagans for the trunks and barrels she sailed with. Their ships were small and fast, but completely lacking compared to the vast Northumbrian fleet she had heard about at her father’s dinner table. Great men from all over the continents came to visit him, and she had learned so much, even from across the room with her needlepoint.

She thought she had detested the wretched craft, but she realized now that she new very little of hate before these animals set food on her land. The ease with which her father handed her over was embarrassing, but she understood.Her mother, Tissaia, had cried when they hauled her into her father’s hall and negotiated her fate as though she was nothing more than a goat or a horse. Her younger brother would be her father’s heir apparent and carry on their family name, as opposed to her future husband.

The thought of the future she lost made her breath catch, even as the men began to cheer. Their home, her new home, was in sight. Istredd was one of her father’s most favored knights, loyal to a fault and so kind to her.She knew that part of his interest in her was due to his potential role as overlord of Essex once he married her, but he did hold genuine love for her in his heart, and she for him. She dashed a tear at the thought that she might never see him again.

She dreaded seeing the pits these people lived in, but she wanted a proper bath, desperately. They rode from her father’s estate with such haste that she had only been permitted to take a small satchel of items prepared by her mother, and had no attire with her other than the once white dress currently looking as though it had been to battle in it’s own right.

They had saddled a young man to her, to make sure she didn’t wreak havoc or escape. He seemed nice enough, but his people and hers had little kindness between them. His face was giddy as he peered onto the shore, looking for his family no doubt. Coën was his name, and when she hadtried to respond with her own, and he stopped her. “The Wolf will explain, but you’ll need a Wylfing name. Don’t mouth your Saxon name to him.” She was outraged, but she could tell he meant well. To warn her against the beast. She shifted her gaze to the dock they were slowly floating toward. Women, children and few old men swarmed the beach, looking to see if their loved ones returned alive.

Steep battlements loomed higher on the hill, and she could see the imposing darkness they brought. Thousands of trees had been cut and stripped to form a massive wall that stretched almost the length of the little valley andwrapped back around the village. A small, windowed room connected the high walkways on either side of the gate. How would she ever manage to break free, to run, when they had such fortifications. Her heart sank.

 _He_ sailed on the boat ahead of them, and when his boots hit heavy on the wooden dock and he raised his thick arms to the sky, they cheered. She cursed.

Coën waved to a pretty young blonde who waited eagerly for his embrace. He turned to Yennefer and pulled a knife from his waist, cutting the thin ropes that bound her hands. “You’re not to be seen as a slave.” He explained.

“Only treated like one.”

He sighed. “The Wolf-, Geralt, will explain everything to you. Please do not run, because I _will_ catch you, and it will dishonor us both.”

She thought about the insult and indignities she’d had to endure since she first laid eyes on them. “Heaven forbid I be dishonored.”

\------

Coën escorted her into a massive hall filled with long tables and a large wooden dais with an oversized chair in the center. It was not unlike her father’s chair. Much more rudimentary, but the purpose was clear, the man who sat there was in charge. He led her up a wide staircase in the rear to the second level which housed a long hallway and a pair of large bedrooms.

He opened the door to the first room and ushered her inside. Everything was plain as it was in the entire building, no one having bothered to add rushes to the floor for warmth, or use any sort of color in the bedding. “Your dinner’ll be brought to you, and he’ll come to see you after.” She wanted to strangle him and run from the dreaded place, but he hadn’t earned her ire.

He turned to leave and stopped. “Most of them won’t like you, being, well you know.” Yes, she knew. _Saxon_. The enemy. “I hope you find your way here.” He gave her half a smile and locked the door behind him.

The room boasted only one tall, narrow window that had a slat through the center which would make it impossible for anyone to get in. She sighed, knowing it would also be impossible for her to get out. She set her satchel on the bed, which looked clean at least. The only furniture in the room other than the bed was a small vanity and an uncomfortable looking chair. There was a well worn grey quilt folded on it, and she took it, wrapping it around her shoulders against the chill in the air.

She had noticed on the ship, the closer they sailed to their destination, the colder it got. Her leisurely summers in Essex would be no more. She returned to the window and pulled back the heavy curtain. It would have been too much to ask for a window facing west so she could properly stare after her family. Never again would she embrace her mother, kiss Istredd. She would surely perish in the cold, dark wilderness of this land, alone.

She focused on the land beyond the wall, at the tall grass that faded into thick woods. A light shape crossed her line of vision and she squinted her eyes in the waning light. White fur, the shape of a wolf materialized at the very edge of her sight. The creature sat for a moment, then pitched it’s head up and howled, the soulful moan causing a shiver to run through her. Poor thing, she thought, maybe he’s alone too.

\------

The boisterous sounds of jubilant reunion and revelry were so loud in the main hall that she could hear them through the floor. She huddled on the bed, the quilt wrapped around her like a cocoon. There was a washbasin on the vanity but no water, and she lit the candle that rested next to it, but the room was still drafty and cold.

The merriment was so noisy that she didn’t hear the leather boots approach, and the door swung open so fast it made her jump. “Don’t tell me you’re a timid little thing now.”

It was the Wolf, the leader, the king of this pagan hellhole. He carried two mugs of what she assumed was ale. “Not timid, but frozen in your rickety excuse for a great hall.” She unwound the blanket and climbed from the bed to face him. He offered her one of the mugs and she took it, thirst overriding her wish to dump it over his head.

Even in the dim light of the room she could tell he was handsome, his short white beard was cleanly trimmed around his prominent jaw. High, striking cheekbones and piercing golden eyes stared back at her. He really was a wolf. “Why am I here, oh great wolf, please, do enlighten me.”

“You will be called Revan. It means raven, like your hair.”

Said hair was tangled and matted to the point of embarrassment. She’d been on a ship for weeks with nothing to use to pull apart the snarls, and nothing to wash it with. Yes, if the raven had been run over with a horse cart. “I will be called Yennefer, because it is my name." His jaw flexed at her continued insolence. “My _God_ given name.” He took a deep breath and visibly rallied his patience.

“Why do you test me so? Is it not obvious that you’re not in a position to refuse kindness?” He was vexed by her.

She scoffed. “Forcing me to answer to some asinine name is a kindness? How about some wood for the hearth, or better yet, a bath. At least that way when I freeze to death up here I’ll go to my grave wiped clean of you raiding neanderthals.”

“My men were right, I should have lopped your pretty head clean off when I had the chance.”

“Do it now, I beg of you. The life of a slave is not one for which I was bred, and I shall be a poor one. Make me a whore and I’ll bite the tongue from any man who comes near me.”

He glowered, “It is _your_ tongue that needs to be silenced, woman.”

“You won’t. You didn’t purchase such a high priced noblewoman only to sell her to the next man. A woman without a tongue, does not a good whore make.” He took a step closer but she didn’t heed his warning. “Why _did_ you bring me here? Tell me now, so that I may comes to terms with my fate.”

“Your demands end now. I could have bathed Essex in your family’s blood and still taken you, so respect my patience in this. I bartered for you only because that is the way of your misguided people. You should be honored, our daughters will be treated with more respect than if you bore them to some Saxon whoreson.”

She couldn’t hide her gasp. “So I _am_ to be your whore.” She hated him.

“My wife.”

She was stunned. An arrogant expression came over his face at her confusion and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“No. I won’t agree.” She began pacing.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I can’t, I’m pledged to another. Istredd, a most kind and loyal knight in my father’s employ.” Her tone was hopeful.

“He is dead to you now. If he wanted to have you he should have done so when you came of age, and not left you vulnerable to a man like me. How many summers are you?”

“Just because we hadn’t married yet doesn’t make me vulnerable.”

“That makes no sense, it’s on _my_ floor that you stand. How many years?”

“I was not alone, but under my father’s protection. Eighteen.”

He winced. “Older than I thought. This man wasted years and did nothing, he did not care for you. Never think of him again.” He nodded to himself like he’d come up with the solution to some great problem. “I will prey to Freya on your behalf, until you are taught to do so yourself.”

She wanted to kill him, murder him where he stood. “You’d better pray hard you cur, because you’re the ugliest man I’ve ever seen, and you’ll never take me willingly.” The words snarled from her lips.

He smirked. Her blood boiled. He stepped around her feet and leaned down to her height, cupping her chin in his warm, rough hand. “Your ugliness must be hidden inside then.” She jerked her face from his grasp and he chuckled. “Your smell, however, is not.” He turned and walked to the door.

It was then that she realized he had bathed. Gone was the blood and grime and in it’s place a clean tunic and pair of trousers. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot. Of course she smelled like two weeks at sea, the ass hadn’t given her anything to wash with and he knew it.

“Until tomorrow.” He shut the door behind him and she heard the wooden slat fall back into place, locking her inside.

“Bastard!” She yelled, slamming the side of her fist against the thick wood with another curse.


	3. Husband

-Geralt-

The steady thwack of Geralt’s axe was offset by the sound of his father’s. Even though winter would be soon upon them, both men were shirtless, muscle and sinew rolling and pulling under the tanned skin of their backs. The clan’s old jarl, Vesemir, was still solid with muscle and a formidable fighter, but when Geralt’s talent for finding the best raiding grounds became clear he stepped down immediately. He claimed that he could honor the clan just as well as an old man.

Both men kept to their own thoughts until the pile of wood reached their waists. The older man laid down his axe and stretched his back, his white hair heavily greyed. Geralt stopped swinging and let out a mighty puff of air that turned frosty and dissipated.

“When?” Vesemir asked.

“Tonight.” Geralt offered.

“Why.”

“I can’t explain it. Something in her gaze.” He looked off, high up into the mountain before shaking his head and frowning. “It is done, she is mine.”

“And if she continues to behave like an ungrateful Saxon wench?” It was common knowledge that she refused everything Geralt had sent up to her. The only exception had been the bath. She’d bathed for hours, howling to everyone who would listen that she was scrubbing off Viking filth.

“Then I’ll beat her until she learns to shut her beautiful mouth.” Geralt smiled.

Vesemir laughed, knowing full well he’d never do such a thing. “You will be busy. Once the men stop wanting to kill her, they’ll seek to bed her.”

“They’ll meet my blade for either.” The muscle in his jaw ticked at the thought of one of his men betraying him in such a manner.Vesemir handed him his tunic and slapped his hand on Geralt’s broad shoulder.

“I’ll help you with my new daughter. I want to be in her good graces so I can spend time with my grandsons.”

———

He was glad the ceremony would be a small affair, because everyone waiting below stairs could surely hear her shrieking. He stood just inside the door to her room with his arms crossed, willing every last ounce of his patience to the forefront of his mind. The young girl Coën had been pursuing took pity on his red-faced shrew and offered a lovely dress, the ivory cloth cut in a flattering shape and golden threads at the hem and intricate neckline.

The dress lay discarded on the bed and she was screaming in his face. “Don’t you see? You’re ruining my life! I was supposed to marry for love, but instead I am to be bound to a beastly dog until the day that I die. Imprisoned here in this frozen wasteland of shite! I hate you, and I look forward to the day of your death with warm glee.“

“Summon some of that warm glee now and put on your wedding dress.” When she hauled back and slapped him, he realized he could have been a bit more understanding to her point of view. She pulled her hand back quickly and he was careful not to smirk as she’d succeeding in only hurting herself.

“Yennefer, this is the last time I ask you kindly. Otherwise I will haul you downstairs like a child.”

Any headway he’d gained by using her Saxon name was quickly withdrawn by the embarrassing threat that followed. She was cornered and she knew it. He was more than twice her size and the entire settlement would jump to do his bidding. Fine, she would stand for his Pagan sham of a wedding. Let him think her docile, and when he let his guard down, she would slice his throat and run.

“Turn so that I may dress.”

Surprise flashed across his features before he did as she asked. She had washed her shift and thin dress in the bath with her the night before, but her mother had thought to pack her another set of undergarments in the small bag she had rushed to her before the evil lout hauled her away. The only other items she had time to grab for her were the cloths she used during her time, her diary, and she had slipped in her own necklace for her.

The long golden chain and amethyst pendant had been around her neck before they left Saxon soil, and someone would have to take her head before they took it from her. She brought the clean shift to her nose and inhaled the scent of _home_. She checked to be sure he wasn’t looking, before shedding her clothes and donning the thin garment. She brought it to her nose once again, before running her hand over the ivory gown on the bed.

Coën had been kind to her, and for that she would appreciate him instead of tearing it to shreds and using it strangle the overgrown ape who waited patiently at her door. It fit surprisingly well, hugging her curves and flattering them, but the girl was much taller as most Norse women seemed to be.

“Turn back.” He turned around and she gripped one of the laces at the collar of his tunic. “May I have a piece?” He pulled the small hatchet from his belt and sliced the cord where she directed. Her hair was clean, but without a proper brush, it was somewhat snarled. She tried to make the best of it and wove her wavy curls quickly into one thick braid that hung to the subtle curve of her derrière. She used the piece of cord to secure the plait and checked that her mother’s pendant was snug between her breasts. She’d cleaned her thin boots with what was left of the bath water, but she didn’t want to tear or soil the hem for Coën’s belle, so she gathered it in her fingers.

“Alright, guide me to the funeral pyre, won’t you Brutus?”

———

-Yennefer-

She brought the heavy goblet to her lips and drank heartily. Apparently wine was only consumed by the Wlyfling on the most important of occasions. The marriage of their jarl, even to a Saxon, met this criteria. She tipped the goblet again, the sweet liquid coating her throat and making her head feel light. Her petite frame couldn’t handle much alcohol to start, and her empty stomach wasn’t helping her. She set down the cup to grip the edge of the table, in hopes that the room would cease its wobbly tilt.

“Eat wife, you need your strength.”

His deep voice barely permeated her foggy thoughts. The overgrown lout was far to close to her, his thigh warm against hers and his breath tinged with the same wine that was on her tongue. She didn’t feel like eating. If anything, a good retch at the thought of what was to come after the meal.

Her voice was surprisingly steady. “I don’t think one needs too much stamina to lie back and watch her hopes and dreams disappear. I’ll leave that mighty effort to you _dear_ _husband_.” She snarled the offensive word as though it burned her mouth.

He purposefully ignored her comment. He was exceptionally skilled at ignoring her, belittling her, crushing her spirit. At least that’s how it felt.

Her wedding took all of ten minutes, and she hadn’t understood a word of it. She had swallowed her revulsion and allowed him to hold her hands, his so large they dwarfed hers. He’d traced circles on her palms with calloused thumbs, she assumed in an attempt to comfort her, but his face remained stoic.

The officiant spoke in ancient tongues, his head bald and his beard reaching to his middle. The only witnesses were a grey haired man who appeared to be an older version of Geralt, the two men he raided with, and Coën. Poor Coën had given her a smile, perhaps the dress reminded him of his lady.

Just before it was over, he released her hands and unsheathed his sword, the massive hilt and wide blade looked as heavy as she was. He turned the hilt to her and Coën approached to whisper the tradition in her ear. On the long portion of the hilt laid a silver ring, the band was wide and inlaid with plaited patterns and sparkling yellow stones. They reminded her of his eyes and she longed to toss the ring over her shoulder and impale him on his own blade.

Surprisingly the ring fit her well, but when Coën produced her father’s sword, a sob shook her chest. His ring was even thicker and wider, and featured the same patterns and lacked the stones of hers. She offered him the ring as he had done, and before she could blink he slipped it on and captured her lips under his. She squirmed, he released her, and she was married.

She blinked to clear the memory from her mind. His father leaned over the table and talked only to Geralt, but he had to raise his voice to be heard over the noise of two hundred men and women eating and carrying on. “Are you sure son? She’s awfully small.”

Geralt smirked. “Too late to advise me on this now father.”

“But will she make it through the winter? The first mountain wind to breach her cloak will tip her right over.”

“Children survive our winters, do they not?”

If she wasn’t so tipsy, she would have been offended the way they spoke as though she was addled and couldn’t hear them.

“Wylfling babes are of hearty mountain stock. You hadn’t better let her outside, she’s frail.”

“She isn’t frail. She isn’t eating to spite me. My wife is...delicate.”

He tore a piece of beef from bone with his hands and shoved it into his mouth. Her stomach rolled in disgust at their poor table manners and she couldn’t bear to look at her own trencher, it was untouched.

“I’m telling you Geralt, the woman looks green. She won’t make it to the spring.”

Geralt looked down and noticed the pallor that had overtaken her face. He wiped his mouth and stood, the scrape of his chair barely registering in her mind.

He bent over and peeled her from her seat. Everything in her vision spun when he lifted her, and she wrapped her arms around his thick neck, laying her face on his shoulder to slow the wild spinning of the walls. He carried her to the base of the stairs and a great cheer went up, she clung to him tighter.

His chest was impossibly firm and warm, so different from her father’s somewhat jolly belly. He smelled of the outdoors, wood and leather and something she couldn’t place. He carried her as though she weighed nothing.

His chamber was next to hers, but already much warmer. A steady fire crackled in the hearth and his massive bed was covered in soft white linens and a thick pile of furs. He shoved the door closed behind him with his boot, and set her down on the far side of the bed.

“Certainly,” her voice was slightly slurred, “give me the side that faces the frigid window.” She sunk her fingers into the heavy furs and mocked him.

He sighed. “I aim to be between you and whatever may come through that door.” He propped his sword against the wall next to the bed, and slid his hatchet between the mattress and the bed frame. Both were forged expertly, with complicated scrollwork and knotted patterns.

She swallowed hard, knowing the worst night of her life was just beginning. She would survive him, and if not, she would join her sweet grandmother and her older brother in heaven. He pulled at the laces of his shirt, and she turned away. She took the dress off carefully and folded it neatly on the large chest of drawers that lined the outside wall of the room.

Someone had moved her things, her diary peeking from the bag. She heard his weight sink into the mattress behind her and she whispered a curse. She flipped the little book open quickly to re-read the hurried message her mother had scrawled for her. “Survive and keep love in your heart my beautiful girl. We will be together again.” She couldn’t stop a tear from racing down her cheek in her inebriated state, and she hurried to hide the book and brush her cheek dry.

The fire put off significantly more light than the candles in the first room, but she refused to look at him. She sat down on the bed in her shift, took a deep breath, and laid on her back. The moment her head hit the pillow she cursed out loud. With all the wine she drank, she forgot to pilfer one of the carving knives from the table. What was the point in behaving if she couldn’t end him once he was sated and defenseless?

He hadn’t moved, but she could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep. “Aren’t you going to rape me now husband?” She let her body go slack and folded her hands over her belly as though she was a corpse.

He groaned in annoyance. “No, wife. You’re drunk. I’ll have you remember the first time I put my hands on you.”

She opened her eyes again and finally turned her head towards him. He laid on his back, hands folded behind his head, still wearing his trousers.

She had been ripped from her home and thrust into a foreign land full of pagan mountain men and forced to marry their leader and she couldn’t believe her luck. On some level his rejection hurt and stung her pride, but on the other hand, she just might be able to survive this hell long enough to find her way back to her family and to Istredd.

She prayed to her Christian God, very loudly, and he grunted, rolling to face the door.


	4. Beautiful Devil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the questionable consent scene. It is my full intent that she is resigned to this occurring and that I do not intend to write rape. Everyone is different, so if you are at all sensitive to this issue maybe it's best that you skip it. Thank you! :)

-Geralt-

She slept like she lived, with some strange combination of aggressive elegance. The sun was high enough in the sky to shine in their window, and he realized that he overslept. He supposed that having a Saxon wife was tiresome, and he should anticipate needing more sleep to deal with the chaos she brought.

Her inky hair was wild and strewn over her pillow and his, the familiar scent of their goat milk soap clinging to the soft strands by his nose. Her dark hair and deep eyes were a rarity in the mountains, and the only place he’d ever seen a purple so vivid was in the color spray of the northern sky on a clear night. Her face was nothing short of beautiful when it wasn’t scrunched up and hurling insults at him, her full lips parted slightly in sleep.

Her shift had worked is way up to her navel in her sleep, her tossing and turning surprising him for how much wine she drank. One of her legs was kicked wide toward him, but instead of inflicting pain as he was sure her dreams revealed, a dainty foot had come to rest on the warmth of his thigh.

He drew his gaze back up her body, and paused where the thin white material revealed the outline of her rosy nipples, rising and falling with her even breathing. He certainly could have done worse.

Geralt rose carefully and quietly, pulling open one of the bottom drawers of the vanity and retrieving his morning gift for her. She wouldn’t be expecting him to follow the tradition of giving his bride a gift the morning after their wedding, such a thoughtless brute was he. Leaving the expensive ivory combs on the bed next to her, he dressed and closed the door behind him.

He stopped down in the kitchen and caught Renfri, one of the young women that helped with the cooking for the hall. “Happy morning Geralt, how does our new mistress fair today?” She was afraid of his response.

He smiled. When the trauma from Yenenfer’s screaming fit subsided, he hoped Renfri would take a liking to her. “She’s still abed. Renfri, the wine is stronger here than in Essex. She will have a headache…a big one.”

“I’ve just the thing! Thank you for the warning.”

He winced, hoping Yennefer’s tantrums were over.

———

The night was not going as he hoped.

“It’s not too late to just return me, I promise no harm will befall the men, just bring me back.”

He shook his head. “You’re married, your father practically sold you to me. What would your dear knight think of that?” He was losing his patience with her. His hunt had gone overly long and he missed the evening meal, his tray sat on the edge of their bed. Renfri reported that she left her room only for dinner, ate precious little and wouldn’t say a word, and then returned to their room.

“He won’t care, he loves me, which is more than I can say of you!”

“Yennefer, that man didn’t love you. He let invaders haul off with you, not a drop of his blood on my blade.”

She snarled, her face dangerously close to his. “You know nothing of love you ill-bred blackguard. Save your affection for whores and sheep, I’m going _home_.”

His lip curled. “It’s no wonder your father was yet to find a man willing to take on his witch of a child.”

“Witch! How dare you! You and your plethora of inane gods.” She threw up her hands. “Believing your dead will rise again. Pagan fools!”

“Ignorant, snake tongued wench!”

“I may posses a viper’s tongue, but I’m far from ignorant you -“

He sealed his lips over hers and reveled in the silence he created. She was stunned for a moment, and he pulled away just before she bit his lip.

———

-Yennefer-

This time she hadn’t forgotten to steal one of the small knives from the dinner table. It was nestled underneath her pillow, just waiting to feel the skin of his neck. Once again she planned to wait until he was deep in the throws of his own devices and then commit her foul deed.

Her teeth snapped air when he moved from her mouth. “Tonight then? You’ll touch your ignorant wife this eve?”

Istredd would accept her if she was no longer a virgin, and she knew her mother would when she explained that she had escaped in such a manner. Once his body was cold she would be queen, and she would beg Coën to see her home and appoint him the leader of the dogs.

“Yes. Will you fight me?” He shifted his weight back on his heels.

“I will survive your surely brutal assault, and dispense with the triviality of maidenhood. I shall be all the more skilled a lover for Istredd.”

His eyes darkened. “I’m warning you now _wife_ , utter that name again in these rooms and I’ll send a party just to bring back his head. Which one would you prefer, the one on his shoulders or his cock?”

She gasped. “How dare you threaten me and speak to me so inappropriately!”

“I threatened a coward, not you, and I’ll speak to my wife any way I bloody well please. Currently I’m treating her the same way she treats me, and I don’t think she cares for it much.”

Her voice quieted. “When I’ve ruined everything you were living for, you’ll have the right to be cross with me.” She was done bandying words with him. It was time for him to meet his end. Wordlessly she turned and began readying herself for bed. He sighed and did the same. He sighed often, maybe his lungs were damaged. She could only hope.

They both pulled up the blankets and furs at the same time, and she quickly averted her gaze. Sweet God in heaven, merciful ruler of all of Christendom, _that_ would never be inside her. It wasn’t even, awake, yet and there was simply no physical way. She wouldn’t live to pull her knife, she would have to do it sooner rather than later.

She laid on her back and arranged her hair just so, pulled her shift up to her hips and shuddered as the air in the room chilled her. She raised her mother’s pendant to her lips quickly and let her knees bend and fall open. She laid with her eyes closed for a minute, and then another, finally peering over at him.

He lounged on his side, his head propped on his arm and a hint of a smile graced his lips as he watched her fuss. Even she, an innocent entering the pits of hell, had to admit he was the most handsome man she had ever laid eyes on. His vivid white hair was clean and free of the tight braids she had learned were only for battle and important events. He must have bathed in the cold lake before coming to their room, his clothes had looked damp and his hair was slicked back.

His yellow eyes had caused her fear in the beginning, but now, paired with his softer expression they were just stunning. Miraculously his nose was still straight, and the lines of his cheekbones and strong jaw made him truly beautiful. A beautiful devil. His white beard was closely trimmed, and her gaze slipped to his chest.

He had the most broad shoulders she had ever seen, and her thoughts went to his poor mother, this man could not have been a small baby. A heavy silver medallion hung between his big pectorals on a chain much thicker than hers. It depicted a howling wolf, and she’d seen Coën wearing the same one. His chest was thick with muscle and his arms and thighs even thicker, the definition visible even under the mat of light hair that trailed down to his navel.

He would make a comely corpse, and it would take six men to haul his body from her bed, but so it shall be.

She snapped her eyes back to the wooden slats of the ceiling and waited. _Just survive_. I will mother, she thought. He finally moved over to the center of the bed and gathered the hem of her shift. “I would see you.” He waited for her refusal, but she simply huffed and sat up so he could ease it over her head.

“When you’re quiet,” he looked over her body appreciatively, “you were worth losing all that plunder.”

She gasped, “Pig.”

He smiled, “That’s fair. You _are_ incredibly beautiful, did you know that?”

He was the only man to ever have seen her naked, so no. “Oh yes, Ist-...many, many men have told me so.”

He ignored her barb for the boast that it was and kissed her jaw before matching his lips to hers. His skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and the subtle pressure of his thumb on her chin parted her lips for his tongue. His kiss was nothing like the pecks Istredd had given her. Geralt wanted to devour her, posses her. She didn’t respond.

“I’ll not take an unwilling woman.”

“Praise Jesus our problems are solved, then get out of this bed and arrange my ship to Essex.” She acted sweet and completely fake.

He smirked. “You will beg for me.”

She scratched his face.

He smiled again, the whites of his teeth flashing in the firelight. He bowed his head and covered her breast with his mouth. She willed herself to stay strong, to wait for her opportunity. His beard was rough on her tender skin, and her nipple pebbled under his wet tongue. She ignored the warm feeling he created when he laved and swirled his tongue, flicking her nipple with a smirk. He switched sides and suckled on its twin, palming both tenderly.

He trailed kisses back up her neck and she failed to notice that she was breathing more heavily. An unfamiliar ache began between her legs and she decided it was nerves. She bit her lip and arched against his mouth, sliding her hand under the pillow and gripping the handle of the knife.

In a flash she pulled it free, but his hand squeezed her wrist, only half way to his neck. He nipped at her breast and added pressure to her wrist until the knife fell.

“You knew!” She accused.

“I did. Renfri said one was missing.” 

She tried to regain the knife but he took it before she could, and threw it across the room. It stuck dead center in a wooden beam with a thwap.

That was it, her plan was ruined. All she could do was lay quietly and try to bear the pain. _Survive_.

“You might like it.” He offered. He ran his hands down her neck, across her collarbone and traced along her arms before he folded them against his chest and leaned close. He mouthed her ear and inhaled her scent.

She shoved at him lightly, “I’m certain I won’t.” She tugged on the crisp hair under her fingers for effect. He growled and slipped his hands down her sides, brushing her breasts as he went. The shudder she felt was certainly revulsion.

He shuffled down her body and she felt his manhood warm against her leg, but before fear could fill her senses, Geralt did. His tongue darted in the hollow of her navel and his fingers played at the soft curls covering her slit. He touched her and she gasped, the golden eyes staring back at her darkening with desire. “You’re wet for me Yennefer.” His beard scraped against her belly.

“I am not.” She insisted haughtily, twisting a bit at the feel of him stroking her in such an intimate place.

He reached a long arm up and painted her lips with her slick. The tip of her tongue darted out to clean her lip curiously. “You’re disgusting.”

“Nothing is wrong between a husband and wife if it brings pleasure.”

“Geralt, you make me feel nothing but nausea. I loathe the feel of - _oh_.” She leaned up on her elbows and watched him with wide eyes. He lapped his tongue along her folds, circling around the little bud that was making her leg twitch. She dug her fingers into the bedding. “You’re repulsive - ,” she tipped her head back and moaned.

He was using Viking black magic, there was no other explanation for the sensations that were spiraling through her. It was building between her legs, her pulse beating in her ears. Even as she reached her fingers into his hair, she cursed out loud. “Something is wrong, it’s not - “

He ignored her and hummed as he licked. He propped her leg up and let her calf fall against his back. “Get off,” she whined, even as her heel dug into his warm skin to urge him closer. She twisted her fingers in his alabaster hair and her back sailed off of the bed and seized. Her lungs stopped their harsh gasps and she thought she might faint if not for her body's rhythmic clenching between her legs.

A deep, ragged moan pulled from her lips as relief coursed through her veins. She laid the back of her hand over her mouth to stifle her pants and realized he was still working languidly between her thighs. Her leg jerked and she hissed, and only then did he relent.

-Geralt-

He replaced his tongue with his fingers and gradually worked one inside her while he nuzzled her thigh. There wouldn’t be any way to avoid causing her pain and he pushed the guilt aside knowing she would only hurt this once. His little wife was small, and tighter than he could have imagined, while his cock hadn’t been so eager since he was a younger man.

He crawled back up the length of her body and slowly added a second finger, circling her with his thumb to ease her discomfort. She swatted at his hand, “Too much.”

He kissed his way up and over her breast leaving pink skin in his wake. He would have to let his beard grow so it wasn’t so rough on her. “There will be more wife, but all will be well.”

He sucked a trail from her collarbone to her lips, chastising himself for neglecting them in his haste to taste her. He leaned to the side and used his hand to coat himself in her wetness, taking her chin with him. Her kisses were timid and unsure, and punctuated with derogatory name calling. Apparently he was a dense and stinking ogre who could barely walk upright. He smiled at her insults and kissed her again, resting his knees on the bed between hers.

He looked into her eyes and saw a confused swirling of loathing and what he hoped was budding affection. “Pockmarked son of a goat.” Well, maybe the next day some affection would take root. Even still, her hand rested at the nape of his neck and she hadn’t tried to strangle him.

“There will be pain, just this once.”

“That is the only emotion I have felt since I laid eyes on you.” Her words were harsh but what he saw in her eyes wasn’t loathing, it was fear.

He traced the head of his cock along her folds and began to enter her slowly. He reached her maidenhead and she whimpered. His entire body was rigid as he kept strict control over himself. She turned her face from his and bit her lip hard. “Yennefer,” he caressed her cheek, “how does - “

“ _Hurts_.” She croaked.

He bowed his head over her shoulder, going slowly wasn't going to help her. He whispered in her ear, “Take heart wife, I will see you through it.” He thrust past her virginity and froze when he was fully seated in her.

Stars burst behind his eyelids. She was so tight that he entertained the thought that he’d died and gone to Valhalla. Her pained cry echoed in his ears and brought him back to their bed, and he wiped at the tears streaming down her face. In all their screaming matches and her tantrums, she’d never once cried. He was starting to feel like the names she had been calling him weren’t too far from the mark.

He wet his thumb and reached between her legs, coaxing her to relax her tense muscles. He mumbled praises in her ear and her fists unclenched around his neck. He began to rock his hips slightly and her knees relaxed from her grip on his ribs.

“Do you want me to -“

“ _Move_ you beast.” She swatted at his shoulder and gasped when he slid out and back inside.

She wiggled her hips experimentally and he buried his smirk in her hair. Of course, how else would she be in their bed. Oh, he had chosen well. He braced both of his arms near her shoulders and set a steady pace, the glide of their bodies sweet torture. His medallion dragged along her body between her breasts and tangled with the long golden chain she wore.

Her hands began to travel and drag across his back, and the soft mewls she didn’t know she was making were driving him to the brink quickly. Her legs wrapped around his middle and her nails dug into his shoulders. “Geralt,” she moaned, “faster.” He obeyed, his surprise at her use of his actual name dashed by the driving need to climax. She felt divine, prefect, and it was a gift from the gods he’d lasted as long as he had.

Her shout rang in his ears and her legs trembled, the squeeze of her center around his length more than enough to undo him. He buried himself deep with short snaps of his hip and a pained groan that filled the room. “ _Mine,_ ” he growled possessively against her temple, emptying himself thoroughly.

His shoulders sagged and she was still going, the gentle roll of her hips instinctual. He latched onto her breast and rubbed quick patterns around the little bundle of nerves that drove her wild. She sucked in big gulps of air, “I can't, it’s too mu -“ and she was lost. Completely oblivious to her own cries, she seemed to melt below him, her pupils blown with arousal and fluttering under her long lashes.

Regretfully he eased himself from the cradle of her hips and flopped down on his back next to her with a heavy thump.

“I hate you.” Her chest was still heaving with exertion, their skin damp with sweat.

“If you must.” He answered back.

She sat up and shifted over to the farthest corner of the bed, her back to him. He sighed, reaching to cover her with one of the thick furs before settling onto his side of the bed. If she wanted space he could give that to her, even though he longed to wrap her in his arms.

He shouldn’t care about her feelings, but he had the strange urge to make her comfortable, content. If his men knew he felt so softly about her, they would string him up and beat the weakness from his hide.


	5. Savage

-Yennefer-

She woke aching and angry. She was a failure. Not only had she failed to kill him, but she’d fallen victim to his pagan blasphemies. She sat on the edge of his…their massive bed and winced. She had enjoyed it, sweet lord she had urged him on. What would her mother think to see her now, or Istredd? It hurt to think about him. Based on the sun in the sky, she had slept half the day away.

She had been so confident her family would accept her back, but now if they only knew what she had done. She dishonored them and herself. His farce of a wedding would mean nothing to them. She held her mother’s pendant between her fingers and prayed for forgiveness.

———

She opened the bedroom door hesitantly, having washed up and donned her Saxon dress once again. To her surprise, Coën leaned along the wall, waiting for her. “Happy morning mistress.” He wore a practiced, bland expression, but his tone was encouraging.

“Good morning Coën, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing.”

She gave him an entirely confused look.

“I’m to watch over you today. Well, all days.”

Anger lit across her face. She was not a child.

“Coën, I’m sure you have more important things to do today. Why don’t you carry on, I’ll manage just fine.”

“I’ll not shy from my duty, you are my responsibility until Geralt returns. His orders.”

She filed her aggravation away for Geralt. He would certainly listen to her opinion on wasting Coën’s time trailing after her.

“Oh! I do have something for you.” She ducked back in their room and retrieved the combs that had been left for her. She tried to hand them to him. “I’m sure these are borrowed from your lovely friend, and I simply cannot take such lovely pieces from her.”

He was as confused as she had been earlier. “Where did you find them?”

She was suddenly unsure if she’d made a faux pas and insulted him. “They were in my bed, yesterday morning.”

Realization showed on his handsome features, “Oh, I think they are your ‘morning gift’. Our tradition, they are yours, from your husband.”

Her face flamed and she returned them to the dresser. He followed her down the stairs and made no mention of her slow, sore gait. She was grateful for his presence, especially as opposed to the red-headed man. Lenard, Lambard, something or other. He had stared daggers at her all through their wedding.

“I’m a bit hungry Coën, where might I find a bite?” In truth, she hand’t eaten much since she set foot on Norse soil. It seemed pointless to starve herself now, she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. He offered to have something made for her, but since she had slept so long she was fine with whatever they could find.

They entered the kitchen and she recognized the young girl who had helped her with her bath the first night, and had been bringing her meals. “Happy morning mistress. What would you like for your nooning meal?” She had stopped scrubbing a large kettle to speak to her. A breathtakingly beautiful blonde women came from what looked like the pantry and chastised her. “Renfri, enough talk. You’re behind already. If she wasn’t hungry when we made the morning meal then she’ll wait until the evening.”

“Keira, watch your tongue.” Coën growled.

Renfri. This was the young girl who had revealed her thievery to Geralt and foiled her plan. She found it hard to be mad at the girl for being loyal to her lord as she, like Coën, had shown her kindness. If only it had been this blonde witch, then she could see making her next plot a double murder.

“This will be fine Coën,” she plucked an apple from the top of a heaping pile, “thank you Renfri.” She ignored the rude woman and walked back into the main hall. By the time she finished the fruit her aches had subsided. At her request, Coën walked her through the bustling village and pointed out different features, explaining everything from their fishing industry down to the seamstress who also had orders from Geralt.

Her measurements were taken and the woman would begin creating her dresses and cloaks that would keep her warm through the winter. She thought about urging the woman to make the bare minimum, but it was her father’s coin he was spending, so she might as well be properly clothed. The idea of spending months trapped there brought her mood back down into sadness. She garnered stares everywhere they turned, some curious and others downright loathsome. Coën reassured her they would do the same to any newcomer, and her dark hair and pale Saxon features were a rare sight in the mountains.

“If only they knew how I longed to be somewhere else Coën. I want nothing to do with this life.” He didn’t know how to answer her without being disloyal to Geralt or disappointing her. Despite the stares, the sun began to set all too soon and he guided her back to the hall for the evening meal.

Geralt and the rest of his men were clustered around the room laughing and making boasts. She turned to Coën intent on asking him where she was to sit, but he had gone to join his lady at the far end of the table. Geralt held his hand open for her and she took it reluctantly. They took their seats at the head of the largest table and the meal carried on loud and merry.

Geralt’s father sat next to her that evening and she found he was a much more pleasant version of his son. He asked her about her life in Essex and she immediately took a liking to him. The soldiers ate from large trays in the center of the table while Geralt and Yennefer’s meals came plated. Keira gave her a disrespectful smirk as she put the delicious smelling tray of fish and potatoes in front of her. She pushed the food around a bit, but decided it wasn’t worth the risk.

Geralt leaned down to speak to her. “We eat a lot of fish here, do you not care for it?”

“It smells delightful, but I’d rather not find out if your cook has put a little special ingredient in mine that would cause me to flop from my chair and draw my last breath.”

His eyes narrowed in displeasure. He caught the red-headed man’s gaze and purposefully switched her plate with his. “Lambert and Keira are married.” He explained.

“Wives don’t always tell their husbands everything.” She pointed out.

He took a bite of her food. “Here they do.”

He gestured for her to eat. “If I do that, I’ll be eating the very poison I’ve left for _you,_ dear husband.” 

His deep laugh was lost in the din of the meal.

———

“I’ll never love you.”

“You will, in time.”

Her hands traced along his strong arms and down his thick sides as he pistoned his hips between her thighs. The bastard was right, it didn’t hurt as much the second time. And the third. And the fourth. He filled her like no other sensation she’d ever felt. The stretch of him warm and heavy inside her made her toes curl and her nipples peak. She wound her hand into his thick hair and tugged his lips from hers.

“ _More_.”

He made her act like an animal, and she would never forgive him for it. He pushed his pelvis into hers harder and she cried out, this time from pleasure. His eyes were black with lust and the bed protested underneath them. He grunted and folded her leg high to change the angle of his thrusts.

“Savage.” She spat, even as she clung to him.

He tipped his head up from where he’d been sucking a mark into her neck. “You love it.” He growled.

“I certainly do na -ah - _ah_!” She dug her nails into the small of his back and he rocked himself deep, his harsh shout muffled in her pillow. She wrapped her arms around his broad back and hid her face in the hollow of his throat as she came down, her forehead damp against his neck.

He rocked his dead weight to the side, and before she could pull away he hauled her up against his chest and pulled the furs up over them. She was too tired to fight him. She was just as savage as he was.

———

-Vesemir-

“It’s Odin’s wolf, child. He uses the wolf to watch over you.”

“Vesemir,” she was getting frustrated at his stubborn track. “It’s just an animal. All I wanted to know was if they were common here, as I keep seeing this one from our window.” They sat on the shoreline watching a team of men carry out repairs on the long boats tethered to the wooden dock.

He smiled patiently. “Odin is watching you.” He patted her hand. “He uses wolves and ravens to gather information about his followers on this plane. To be honest, when I first saw the color of your hair, I knew you would be a fitting match for my son. He is our clan’s white wolf, and you his raven.”

“Next you’ll tell me the squirrels by the tanner’s hut are carrying secret missives to the underworld.” She shook her head at his fanciful tales.

“Ah! You’re catching on! Squirrels do carry messages up and down Yggdrasil, that’s a massive tree that -“

She held up her hand and stopped him. “No more please, no more for today. My head is just bursting with…information.” He smiled again, knowing she didn’t believe a word from his mouth. The news that she had been seeing a wolf was encouraging. He hoped Odin truly had blessed their union.

Yennefer was a long way from trusting them, and certainly not his son. She held her unhappiness and desire to return home against him, and she was proving much more stubborn than he thought she would. The only other female he’d known to give a man such a run was Geralt’s mother. He had thought Yennefer childish, but as time went on he realized she was simply cunning. When she was quiet, she was listening carefully, and when she was loud she was making a hell of a point. All other moments were spent making Geralt’s life difficult so he might think to just send her away.

Little did she know, Geralt would never give her up. He was in love with her, it was plain as day and written on his face. He bathed every night just to please her, and the lake was likely getting so damn cold he would make himself ill. He listened intently when she was brought up in conversation and he would nip any sour thoughts toward her harshly and definitively. Winter would be upon them, and he had asked Vesemir to see to a pair of proper boots and a coat for her. While his wife ‘ _is not frail, she is dainty and needs proper attire_ ’.

“I’ve a gift for you Yennefer, two actually.”

Coën was needed that day, so he was tasked with watching over her. He stood from the grassy hill and gave her his hand.

They walked through the busiest street in the village, and a female voice screamed out, “Saxon whore!”

Vesemir grabbed her arm, his other hand on the hilt of his sword. “Ignore it, please.” She requested. “It happens occasionally.”

He was shocked, but they continued walking. “Coën allows this behavior?”

“I asked him to dismiss it. It’s entirely harmless, and only serves to remind me that I don’t belong here. I agree with her.”

Vesemir shook his head. Coën should not have kept this fact from Geralt. If he had known, he would certainly have put a stop to it. They continued on and arrived at the tanner. Vesemir presented her with a tall pair of leather boots, wrapped and lined with white rabbit fur, leather cord used for the laces.

“No, I cannot accept these. It’s too much.”

“Try them on, and yes you can. Geralt asked they be made for you, along with the coat.”

She looked striking in the long, fur coat. The grey fur ran from her shoulders and reached her lower calf, thick cuffs on either of her wrists and around her neck. It was cut in a Nordic style, but it was unlike anything she saw any of the others wearing.

“It’s such wonderful craftsmanship. Thank you Vesemir.”

“Thank my son.” He reminded her.


	6. Feral Oaf

-Yennefer-

Some nights he never came back to their rooms. She mentioned it casually to Coën, and he told her some of their hunts went long. If they were on a herd of moose, it was too lucrative to give up. She laid curled in their large bed, unable to sleep. Her gaze shifted from the combs, to the chest now full of lovely gowns and riding tunics. She was given undergarments, nightdresses and even trousers should she wish to joint a hunt. Her fur coat hung carefully on one of the hooks by the door, the matching boots below.

Did he gift her thoughtful things because he felt guilty, or did he genuinely care for her? He would be a fool to do so. She wouldn’t love him, she couldn’t. Maybe he sought more amenable comforts on the nights she spent alone. There was no brothel, per se, but it was not hard to find pleasure and female company if one knew where to look. Doubly so for their leader.

She got up, bringing one of the heavy furs with her and walking to the window. It began snowing a few hours before, and everything she could see was covered in a thick layer of white. Maybe he would freeze to death and she would be free.

———

She shivered and reached for the furs at her feet. Pleasure spiraled up from her core and she moaned. Her lashes fluttered open, the low light of dawn permeating the room. She felt warm hands on her thighs, and wet noises soft in her ears.

He looked up at her from her belly, smug crinkles around his eyes as she dug her ankles into his back. “Oh, you rotten, feral, oaf.” She tipped her head back into the pillow and ran her hands through his wild white hair.

He devoured her as though she was naught more than a piece of ripe, juicy fruit. She pushed against his mouth, no longer afraid he would hurt her. He wove his hands around her backside and gave her a firm squeeze, nudging more of her sensitive flesh into his mouth. He dragged his chin through her soaked folds and she keened, her back arching off of the bed.

He added his finger and she gasped, his hand and tongue working in tandem simply to rid her of control over her body. His other hand splayed over her belly to keep her hips steady and she clasped it in her own, the other buried deep on his scalp.

“Geralt,” she lamented, squeezing his big hand as tight as she could. She panted out his name again and he suckled harder on the bundle of nerves under his tongue. She pitched forward and held his head, her euphoric wail broken only by little sobs as he overwhelmed her.

He licked her lightly until her tremors subsided and she tried to scoot away from him. He held her hand fast and kissed her palm before she yanked it away.

“You are so cross with me, but you love it when I’m between your legs. Admit it.” He crawled up next to her.

“What a foul and rude thing to say. Your presence haunts me like a bad side of mutton I wish I never tasted.” She slid farther away.

“That’s not what it sounded like when you were calling my name.”

“You certainly misheard, as I was simply wishing you away from my bed. Speaking of, where were you last night?”

He laid his head back on his arm, unashamed at his state of undress and the rather prominent erection he displayed. He caught her staring and she looked at her feet. “Three red deer. Felled, gutted, and traded East for grain.” He licked his lips and grinned, grabbing her discarded shift and drying her off of his beard.

She gasped in horror.

He glanced at the chest in the corner of the room, overflowing with her clothing. “Stop fretting wife.”

“I’ll fret, I’ll whine, and I’ll yell if the mood suits me _husband_.”

“At least you’re honest.”

———

“If you were a man I’d cut out your tongue.” Geralt’s tone was hauntingly low. He had Keira backed into a corner of the kitchen, his face inches from hers. Terror and defiance flitted across her face alternately.

He had disappeared from the table and Yennefer had a suspicion that it had something to do with the comment Keira muttered as she served Yennefer’s meal. Keira had delivered her plate of beef with a scowl, adding, “Choke, princess.” She made belittling remarks often and Yennefer simply ignored her. Unfortunately for Keira, this particular comment was made loud enough to reach her leader’s ears.

“Geralt, leave it be.”

He heard her clear as day, but he didn’t move from where he loomed over the blonde woman. He leaned close to her ear and growled something that made the woman’s face visibly pale. He turned and left her shaking, guiding Yennefer out of the kitchens by the small of her back.

“Lambert!” He barked, as soon as they returned to their seats. Content that she was settled back in next to Vesemir, he and Lambert left the hall.

“She is jealous of you, daughter.”

Yennefer would never get used to him referring to her that way, it made her long for her own father. “God in heaven why? Kidnapped and stripped of my home and every last thing I cared about only to be hauled into this frozen tundra of demons.”

He skipped over her insult to his land. “I would imagine your rank, your beauty, and the way my son looks at you are all challenging for her. She pursued him years ago and he wouldn’t have her. It appears she has not taken it well that a Saxon women filled the position she was denied.” He thought for a moment. “The women especially, haven’t been kind to you?”

“Well I certainly don’t blame them. I am a rather unhappy person at this juncture in my life, and I raised a bit of hell when I thought there was a chance to alter the course of things. Renfri, the youngest of all of them, has a wonderful head on her shoulders. She has been kind.” She held a piece of beef on her fork, “If this should be my last meal, I appreciate your candor and advice.” She patted him on the hand and swallowed the meat. He smiled and returned to his plate.

“What do you mean, the way he looks at me?” She lowered her voice, not interested in sharing with the rest of the table.

“Yennefer, you are intelligent. Far more so than anyone here gives you credit for. Do not play and pretend you are unaware of his feeling toward you.”

“I am aware that he views me as a trophy. A screaming, biting, spoil of war that he plans to use to bolster his ranks with half-bred Viking children. As many, and as often as nature will allow.”

“You would not have agreed to children with a Saxon?”

“It would have been my _choice_. And I highly doubt Istr-, a Saxon noble would carry on with me as though I was naught but a ripe broodmare.” Their nightly activities were no secret, and living directly above the main hall did nothing for their privacy.

“I don’t have to explain to you why a leader needs heirs, but if you’re unhappy about his…methods, you best tell him. My son is a brilliant strategist, a capable hunter and an extremely accomplished warrior, but he has little experience in the delicate ways of noblewomen.”

“I have tried. Every time I demand that he unhand me and let me return to Essex, I wake in the same bed hours later.” She shook her head as though it was so simple. “I’ll leave you to it Vesemir.” She stood and pressed her palm to her stomach. “I think Keira may have indeed tried to finish me off this eve.”

He nodded and watched her walk regally above stairs.

———

-An Hour North, The Seer’s Cave, Geralt-

“For the first time, you were wrong.” Geralt’s low voice echoed in the small stone room.

“Slow your tongue and think of what you are accusing me of. You are not _my_ jarl, and I won’t hesitate to put a pox on your manly bits if I feel I’ve been disrespected.”

He sighed. “My humble apologies.”

“You are not humble, save that you overgrown oaf.”

“Have you met my wife? I think you would like her.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Your dainty wife is a force to be reckoned with in her own right.”

Her omniscience never ceased to amaze him. Of course she knew about Yennefer. “She defies me at every turn. Have a I made a mistake?”

“Nothing worth keeping is easy. That was a waste of your tribute, Vesemir could’ve told you that.” She nodded to the gilded chalice on the table. “Give her a gift, and I don’t mean baubles. Give her the gift of companionship, maybe something to soothe her terrified heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I want to update every other day, but I'm posting an extra chapter today in honor of my dear friend, DarkGlowingLight. She is an amazing help to me with many of the ideas in my fics and she really got excited about this one. She has given me a ton of help and wonderful mythology to add here!
> 
> She has distractions and writer's block, so if you liked this extra update, hop over to her lovely fic _Their Sweet Kiss_ and leave her a comment that will get her going! [There are fics in her head that you want to read, trust me!!]  
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22209640/chapters/53027293
> 
> Thank you :)


	7. Son-In-Law

-Essex, Geralt-

When the hash marks in her diary told her she had been in on Viking soil for three months, he left for the fourth. He, Lambert, and three trusted men set sail for Essex in the dead of night. It was winter, but he wanted to give his _ally_ a surprise visit. Most of all, he wanted to bring Yennefer a gift.

Lambert had not kept his dislike of Geralt’s Saxon wife a secret, though he didn’t dare speak out against her as his wife had. Geralt hoped Keira had learned her lesson, because if it happened again, he would have to hurt someone.

Vesemir had enlightened him to her plight with the women, and how she lacked companionship. Philippa had slammed the point home. His original hope was that maybe if she opened up to him then she wouldn’t feel so alone, but his father reminded him that like men, women shared a similar sense of camaraderie amongst themselves.

When they arrived on foreign soil, Vilgefortz was less than welcoming considering he had signed a treaty with Geralt. He forced Geralt and his men to sleep outside the wall, but they preferred to in any event. The Vikings sat on the far end of Vilgefortz’s hall for the evening meal, and Geralt couldn’t help but look around for the infamous _Istredd_. The one his wife still held out hope for, the perfect specimen of a man. Bullshit.

Geralt didn’t think much of any of the men gathered, and there were certainly no perfect ones, in his opinion. Yennefer’s mother however, was fascinated with he and his men. She was probably looking for word on how her daughter faired, since her _loving_ father failed to even bring her up. She approached him, and he respected her for her bravery.

“I am Tissaia, Yennefer’s mother. Pray tell me, is she well?”

She wrung her hands, expecting to hear that her only daughter had been torn to pieces by wolves.

“She is hale. Still rather unhappy about her situation, stubborn as all hell, but she is well.”

Relief flooded her features.

Geralt pressed on. “Are there women in the castle, maids and such, that she might have been close with? I fear she is want for female company, and I thought if anyone wanted to join her…” He tipped back his mug of ale.

She lit up like a shooting star. “Oh yes! Her handmaid has been so lost without her. When do you depart? I will fetch her and inquire immediately.”

They were only staying a few days. He didn’t like standing on Saxon soil unless he was tearing it up, and he didn’t want to be away any longer than he had to be.

Geralt stood, nodded to Vilgefortz, and he and his men left the hall. They walked through the empty halls of the keep toward the lower bailey when they heard a female shout. Waking quietly, they almost bypassed the winding hallway when hushed voices reached them.

“Please Istredd, don’t. My father will disown me.”

At the mention of that name, Geralt’s blood began to boil.

“Your father will never find out. You’re plenty old enough to make your own choices.” He pressured her.

Lambert made to move on, but Geralt couldn’t help himself and he peered down the shadowed corridor. The girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen, and Istredd was an easy thirty. His hand was up her skirts and she looked incredibly uncomfortable. He took only a moment to weight the potential consequences when he stepped into the light.

“Leave the child be.”

The volume of his voice startled Istredd and he backed up abruptly. Geralt turned to the girl, “Run.” With a whirl of taffeta she took off, and Geralt smirked. It seemed he had the only Saxon woman who was wholly disagreeable to his wishes.

Istredd snapped back. “And just who might you be? A member of the common rabble? The king is entertaining important guests, so I advise you leave my sight before I remove you personally.”

Lambert and the others chose that moment to reveal themselves and the knight took a significant step backwards. _This_ was the man his wife could not forget. He must have been one hell of an actor. Geralt wanted to remove his face for him, but he wasn’t worth a war, and certainly not the lives of his people.

“You’re looking at his important guests. I don’t know how kindly my father-in-law would take to knowing a pedophile ran loose in his keep.”

A sinister smile spread over his mousy features and beady eyes. “Does she still call for me in the throes of passion?”

The knife flew from Geralt’s hand before he even realized he had pulled it. Istredd fell to the stone floor, howling and holding his boot where Geralt’s knife efficiently separated him from two of his toes. He bent low over the man to retrieve it. He screamed when the knife pulled back through the leather. “Speak of her again and I’ll choose something smaller to remove.” Geralt slapped the flat of the blade low on Istredd’s belly and stood over him as he whimpered.

“She never mentioned you, seems her time in my bed has rid her of all useless memories of low life scum.” Geralt and his men walked to the end of the corridor before he turned for one last promise. “Touch another girl against her will, and I will sail here just to remove your scalp.”

———

-Norway, Yennefer-

“You want me to teach you?”

Coën nodded. She looked down at the book on the table in front of them. “I would be happy to.”

“And myself, please.” Eskel stepped forward from the shadows. He was a quiet man, but Yennefer could see the intelligence behind his eyes. She nodded with a small smile.

“Coën, is there anything for the children? Schooling?”

“Only what their parents can manage.” He shrugged. They were brothers, Eskel the eldest, and their father had been a mighty warrior under Vesemir. Their mother struggled to find the time for formal education when their father was gone on long campaigns so frequently.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that. Everyone is stuck indoors, do you think some of the children could spare a few hours a week?”

Coën looked green.

“Separate!” She held out her hands, “Separate from what the three of us review together.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding and agreed. She would offer her knowledge to any children that were interested, in the main hall.

“Maybe they won’t let their children near me.” She thought aloud. “Oh! Vesemir has something that would be just perfect to work from. Let me run and get it, I will be back in a moment.” She donned her coat quickly and left the hall, leaving only cold air leaked from outside in her wake.

They began discussing her idea when they heard a shout. They had left her alone. Coën shot out the door without his cloak, his brother close behind.

They found her on her knees in the snow, not another soul in her presence. “Yennefer!” Coën rushed over to her and fell to his knees when he saw blood melted into the white crystals.

She tried to quiet him, “I’m alright, I’m fine.”

He didn’t school his features fast enough when she looked up at him. Blood dripped from the corner of her eye where a small portion of the skin over her cheekbone had been. The culprit lay in the snow at her feet, a small rock with jagged edges, painted red with her blood.

“Two more here.” Eskel remarked, finding two more stones and putting his hand on her back. She hissed.

Lambert made the most skilled sutures, but Vesemir would have to do. Eskel carried her carefully while Coën ran ahead to warn him.

“Did you see who threw them? Please don’t lie.” Eskel hadn’t spent much time with her, but he knew she tried to make light of Kiera’s insults and would possibly downplay this incident as well.

“I only lie to Geralt.”

He smirked, _what a pair_.

“Yes, I did see, and I won’t tell.”

Vesemir ushered them in quickly and Eskel laid her on his bed. Vesemir shooed them, “I’ve got it from here, off with you.” Eskel left with a sympathetic look, and Coën was reluctant to go. “Find her something to bite down on then, if you’re going to stand there.”

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” She tried to sit up and he eased her back to the bed.

“You’ll bear a scar, there’s no doubt. Who is behind this?” He was patient with her. 

She shook her head negatively. Coën returned with a long piece of leather he folded over and she bit down on it gratefully. Vesemir was quick and concise with his stitches and she didn’t make a sound. Tears poured from her eye where he worked, and neither man mentioned the tears flowing from the other side as well.

Coën mentioned her sore back and he turned away while Vesemir helped her loosen the tight leather strap that held the waist of her dress. He gently prodded the bruise on her back and the one on her ribs, through her shift. She blushed the entire time, and tried to leave when he finished.

“Get right back in this bed, you’re not going back to the hall alone for the night.” He turned. “Coën will bring us our supper.” The young man dashed off to fetch their food.

“You will have to tell him who did this. You can’t hide it, even if you want to.”

“It seems our vengeful friend solved both of my problems for me. The women no longer need to be jealous, and your son won’t be so motivated to _carry on_ so.”

“You don’t need me to tell you that you’ll still be beautiful with a little scar. He will deal with them now, whoever it is, and you are not responsible for their punishment.” He looked at her pointedly, to make sure she believed him.

Coën returned quietly. “Yennefer, while you teach Eskel and I what we talked about, I think we should teach you these.” He showed her the two small daggers that were hidden on his hip. Vesemir grew quiet and dismissed Coën.

“He told you, didn’t he?” She wasn’t ashamed.

“It was a kitchen knife, and he doesn’t blame you. I am in favor of you knowing how to defend yourself, and each new day proves that it is needed. However, I will not trade my son’s life for it. He is more vulnerable with you than any other, I will have your vow that you won’t use such knowledge to hurt him.”

It had been months since her wedding night, and so much had happened to change her from the naive captive she had been. Killing Geralt would have meant her own death, swiftly and surely. She needed him for survival in this land of strangers. He hadn’t been any crueler to her than she had been to him, and he _had_ acted in her best interests, making sure she was cared for. Barring the fact that he tore her from her home and forced her to marry him.

She looked Vesemir in the eyes. “I will not physically harm Geralt. I can’t.”

\------  
Eskel instructed her in defense, and Coën in counter attack. She worked with them both on reading, and she transformed their illegible scrawl into missive worthy penmanship. She proved adept at handling the small blade Eskel found for her, and he was just as naturally inclined with the pen.

Only one child appeared in the hall for lessons on the first day, Renfri’s younger sister. Slowly their numbers increased until she had just under a dozen boys and girls. In a few weeks she made headway teaching them reading, writing, and simple arithmetic concepts. In exchange, they taught her patience and a lot about the community she was forced to call home.

Vesemir made guest appearances and weighed in his opinion on different topics, and filled in the gaps of Viking theory and theology where the children left off. She found it highly fanciful, but she didn’t need to believe it to learn about it.

Her days had taken on a sense of normalcy, but her nights were anything but. She laid alone, chilled to the bone even through the roaring fire and mountain of furs. Something was missing, and she was far to afraid to ask herself what, or who that might be.

She forgot Istredd’s face. One morning she woke, excited to dabble into geography with the children using some of Vesemir’s maps, when she realized she could not remember the features of his face. Another profile with piercing eyes and a jaw that could slice through ice was the only image her mind would conjure. She felt such shame that she completely bypassed looking in the little mirror on the wall.

The deeper into winter they got, the earlier darkness came each night. She hurried through the snowy paths that would barely pass for streets, Vesemir’s maps tucked under her arm, intent on returning them to him. She made her last turn and noticed that something was different about the front gate of the village. It was open.

It was snowing lightly and most were already in the hall or in their homes eating as the sky grew darker. She looked around to ensure that no one noticed her, Coën had been called to look into a leaky roof belonging to a widow. She walked casually through the gate and a hundred yards farther into the snow before she turned to look behind her. No one noticed her absence. She was free.

She ran toward the shoreline which was still visible in the snow. She only made it a few paces toward the boats before she stopped short. What on earth was she doing? She couldn’t sail a Viking ship on her own, and she had nothing with her – no food or water. The only way she would leave these snowy mountains was with Geralt’s permission and assistance. When would God allow her to make peace with her fate?

She pulled her coat tight around her neck and turned back, Vesemir’s maps just a bit crinkled from her mad dash. Her boots crunched in the thick snow until she heard a low growl. She froze and the growling intensified, so deep and loud that she could feel it rattle her bones.

Shining yellow eyes caught her attention, black lips around rows of sharp teeth. It was _her_ wolf, the one she had seen from their room, it had to be. Up close, he was massive. Ivory white fur covered a large head and powerful shoulders. She could see the steam curl from his nostrils as he hunkered his large frame lower to pounce.

His giant paws left the snow in a heartbeat and she dropped to the ground, hands over her head and bracing herself for the impact. She heard a roar come from her other side, and the blow never landed. The wolf clamped it’s powerful jaw around the neck of a mangy looking dog with a long snout, a coyote. He shook his head and the animal cried until the life left it’s body, two other animals circling and ready to attack.

He spat out the dead foe and the remaining two lunged simultaneously. One was met with a hard impact from a clawed paw, and the other made it past to slash his teeth through the wolf’s shoulder. Blood poured from the wound onto lily white fur, and she felt two strong hands hook underneath her arms.

Coën dragged her upright and pulled her along behind him. She tried to pull away and go back, “The maps!”

“Forget the bloody things, run!” He grasped her hand and they ran hard for the gate. When they reached it she turned back, chest heaving, trying to see through the snow if the wolf was still standing. “What were you thinking?!” Coën burst out. He took her arms in his hands and shook her gently.

“I wasn’t, I’m sorry.” She peered out into the night.

“By the gods Yennefer, I think I’ve aged ten years in the last moments.” 

“Walk me to Vesemir’s home so I can break the news I’ve lost his maps?”

“I’ll be walking you everywhere until Geralt gets back. Consider me your very handsome, literate, shadow.”


	8. Betrayed

-Norway, Geralt-

His people flooded the dock, dressed in layers of fur against the bitter cold. He scanned the crowd quickly, before reminding himself of reality, that of course she would not be happy he had returned. Likely she dreamed of his ship falling off of the ends of the earth.

He helped the woman up into the dock, and she bounded up with surprising excitement to be reunited with her mistress. The handmaid was no old hag, and he had been taken aback by her graceful beauty. He could tell from traveling with her that she had a kind heart.

“Nenneke!”

She had come. His wife hurried through the crowd and embraced the woman, both crying tears of joy. They kissed each other’s cheeks and huddled together. He waited patiently for her to notice him, something he couldn’t remember having done since he was a boy.

When she pulled away from the woman and met his gaze, he could swear his heart stopped. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her cheeks were pink form the cold, dark rivulets of her hair filling her hood. She crossed the wooden planks to embrace him softly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Geralt.”

“Did you miss me wife?” His smile was playful.

“I had no one to blame all of my problems on, your absence was truly taxing.” He laughed before capturing her lips in his. It took her a few moments, but she eventually opened up for him, her small hand coming to rest on his overgrown beard as she responded cautiously. He would deliver her the entire female population of Saxony one woman at a time if it meant she would kiss him freely.

When she stepped down from the tips of her boots, he tilted her face to examine the wound on her cheek. “What in the name of Balder happened to you?” The thrill of her embrace was fading fast into anger. “Coën!” He barked.

“It was not his fault, I fell.” She patted his arm in an attempt to appease him before turning back to her friend. A few locks of her hair spilled from the hood and fell to the middle of her back. When he left it had surely reached to her bottom. Just what in the gods had he missed?

———

Geralt hung his cloak on the wall and kicked his snowy boots to thaw by the fire. Yennefer’s friend would stay with Renfri’s family until they found her suitable lodging. He stripped down and climbed onto the bed, the mattress giving underneath his weight. She rolled toward him, and to his surprise, she was naked as well. He laid on his back and she propped herself up on her elbow, tracing lazy patterns through the mat of hair on his chest.

He took her face in his hand and ran his thumb near the scar that was forming below her lower lashes. “This does not appear a fall.” He waited.

“It was after the rocks, that I fell.”

His hand stopped caressing.

“Stones, pebbles really.” She amended quickly.

He sat upright, unable to look at the injury any longer. His words formed from behind gnashed teeth, “Who dared touch you?”

She knew he would not let up. “It was Lambert’s boy.” When he didn’t relax, she asked, “What will you do?”

“I don’t know yet, but leave me to it.”

She laid her hand on his back and he eased back down to the bed. “And your hair?” He ran his fingers from her temple down her soft curls to the tips that hung just below her breasts.

“It was in the way. Coën got a good grip on it and I decided it was a disadvantage.” Before he could explode, she explained, “Daggers husband. He and Eskel have been kind enough to teach me some things. I promised Vesemir I would not harm you…with the daggers.” Her wide smile warmed something in his belly.

He pulled her so she laid on top of his chest, their legs intertwined. “I didn’t miss you at all husband, for I was busy each and every day.” She teased him, and the press of her breasts against his chest was driving him to distraction.

He was half hard against her leg, and the mysterious smile on her face was egging him on. “I missed you. Every morning I woke swollen and missing my dark haired nymph.” His hand trailed over her scalp.

She pressed a kiss to his chest, rubbing her legs along his. “It sounds like it pained you to be away?” She pushed him to be vulnerable with her. She was a different woman in his bed, but that night he couldn’t help but wonder if the arrival of her friend helped her see him in a new light.

“It is true.”

“Mmmmmm,” she hummed, “that pleases me.” The sultry grin on her face would have undone any man. “Geralt, can it be done this way?” She teased her center over his now straining cock. He had always instigated their lovemaking, and it stroked his pride to no end that she was so eager for him.

He couldn’t form a response, but he leaned up to capture her lips in his. She reciprocated passionately, teasing when his tongue brushed hers. He reached between her legs and his fingers sunk into her folds, the heady groan against her lips his response to how surprisingly wet she was. He had barely touched her.

He lined up her hips and she sank back over him, breaking their kiss as she leaned back slowly until he was fully sheathed inside. She pinned her flushed lip under her teeth as though she was savoring him, and her eyes closed as she ran her hand down his chest and over his belly to hers. He fought to keep himself from trembling at the picture she made. Her small hand continued up to her breast with a toss of her shiny hair.

Battle worn hands fell to her hips and he traced over the flair from her waist with his fingertips. She began to move, her gaze heavy with lust. Her hips rose chaotically at first, and he guided her until she began to ride him in earnest. _Odin’s beard_ , she was a fine woman.

He touched her everywhere, covering her back and running down the pale arms braced against his chest.He cupped her breasts and teased her nipples with his thumbs. She found an angle that suited her and he felt her moan all the way down to his toes. He braced his knees behind her and locked his hands behind her knees.

Her hair fell across her face and her mouth opened as she chased her pleasure. Her short cries rang in his ears as they came faster and her body jerked over his. Her hands slid up and gripped the hollow of his neck and he took over the rhythm of their bodies, hands supporting her sides. Her head tipped back and she wailed.

It had been too long since he’d held her, and her climax fueled his. She fluttered around him, her shoulders quaking and soft moans in time with his deep, purposeful thrusts. She fell forward onto his heaving chest and he took her face in his hands, painting kisses across her damp forehead.

When they calmed she laid over his broad chest, her head tucked under his chin, too tired to shy away. “I don’t like living above the hall. The women in the kitchen can hear things…it upsets me.” Her cheek was warm on his skin.

He rubbed her back. “It is tradition for the clan’s Jarl, you are protected here.”

“Is it also tradition for him to take a Saxon wife? Let Vesemir live here again.” She suggested. “Then Nenneke can stay in the other room.”

“You would stay in his small cabin?”

“Just because you stole me away from a castle, doesn’t mean I desire to live in one. His home is well kept and I am jealous of his view of the valley.” He hummed, and couldn’t think of a scenario where she had been in his home. “Your father repaired my face and tended to a few bruises. I repaid him by losing his maps.”

He wanted to ask her more, but her breathing evened and she fell asleep.

\------

-Yennefer-

She hated how he made her feel. She held his gift in her hand, longing to throw it. The broach was gold and silver, surprisingly light, but sturdy. He had certainly had it commissioned, as the silver flowed in it to form the same snarling wolf depicted on his medallion. She wasn’t one of them, and she didn’t want to feel for him.

“We’ve no Christmastide, but I thought you would be disheartened if you didn’t receive a gift.” He had come up behind her as she sat near their window in Vesemir’s old desk, writing in her diary.

God in heaven, why did he have to complicate things so. Since Nenneke arrived, she had felt more confused about her feelings and her future than ever in her life. He was her captor and she his reluctant prize, but as she walked her friend through her daily life to acclimate her, it became clear that her feelings toward many of the people in Geralt’s clan were something more than loathing.

She had made relationships there, even some of the women had come forward and thanked her for schooling their children. She had her enemies, but just as many waved or smiled as she walked by. Vesemir, Coën, Renfri, and Eskel were just the start of those she could now call her friend.

Nenneke’s presence reminded her of Essex, and those she had left behind. Those who’s memory she dishonored by falling in with the Vikings. When she felt a prisoner things were simple, but time had passed and her heart was clouded and confused. He made things harder. She enjoyed their nightly activities, but she held fast that she despised him. He was tender, she looked down at the jewelry, thoughtful even. He was an unfeeling beast of a man, curse him.

It was in this uncontrolled swirl of emotion that she made a mistake.

She handed the broach back to him swiftly. “No, I do not accept this. You’re trying to manipulate me and I won’t have it.” She stood from her chair and he backed up a step. “Stop. Just stop this, I hate you. You’ll never be him.” She was shouting.

Anger finally blossomed on his face when she made mention of Istredd. Blood ran from the palm of his hand where the pin pierced his skin as he clenched his fist.

“Wake up wife. You’re never going to see him again, so long as there is breath in my lungs.”

“Easily remedied.” She boasted.

“I saw him, in Essex. He was attempting to rape what looked like a twelve year old girl.” He let that sink in.

“You’re a liar. You hurt him!” She accused. Her back went ramrod straight as she waited for his response.

He leaned close and she could feel his breath on her face. “I spared that bastard pedophile, and that mistake still haunts me to this day. You are mine, Yennefer. Hate me if you wish, but don’t long for him, it’s pitiful.”

He left her standing by the window, the frame rattling with the force of the slamming door. She let out a ragged breath. She was in control again, but she did not expect it to feel so sour in her stomach.

He didn’t come home that night or the next, and she wondered if he was so angry at her that he thought he might hurt her. Still, she couldn’t picture it. He joined her on the third night, but he slept facing the wall and didn’t utter a word to her. He was disgusted.

She tried to go on as though nothing had happened, but they knew. Coën and the rest avoided him, they were quiet with her, and apparently he was taking out his anger on everyone. The sour feeling hadn’t left, and she had less and less of an appetite. He had taken to eating outside the hall, mayhap he dined with one of the village whores. The thought made her want to heave her empty stomach, and the fact that it upset her made her even angrier. 

Nenneke rose from her seat at the table and tapped on her shoulder. “Yennefer? You don’t look well, are you dizzy?”

“The room isn’t actually spinning, is it?”

“No love, let’s go.”

Vesemir abandoned his fish to watch closely as Nenneke helped her stand. Yennefer made it about three steps before she slumped against her, eyes rolling back beyond her lashes. Nenneke struggled with her until Vesemir folded her in his arms. They carried her back to Vesemir’s old cabin where she and Geralt had taken up residence. He laid her in their bed and Nenneke fussed, putting a cool cloth to Yennefer’s forehead.

“Could she be carrying?” Vesemir asked, feeling the strong pulse in her wrist.

“No, it must be that she hasn’t been eating enough. Nothing has been sitting well with her.”

“Why do you say that?” Geralt’s voice from the door surprised them both.

Nenneke looked unprepared for his question. “Oh, ah, she’s just had her courses.”

“No, she hasn’t.” Geralt’s eyes narrowed. He could sense her nervousness.

She shrugged and tried to brush off his question.

Vesemir pressed in a sympathetic tone. “Nenneke, you’re flushed. You’d better sit before we have two ladies to care for.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “What did Yennefer tell you?”

“God and Yennefer please forgive me. It’s the tea.”

The room was silent for a long pause.

“Nenneke,” Geralt implored, “what tea?”

She sighed. “Tansy tea.”

Vesemir hissed. Geralt’s head swiveled. “What? What’s wrong with this tansy?”

Vesemir addressed Nenneke. “May I see it? I’d like to know how she’s got a hold of it.” She handed off the compress to Vesemir and he resumed her task of applying the cool water to Yennefer’s face.

She turned and rustled through one of Yennefer’s drawers, finding a small glass jar of dried leaves hidden in the back. When she saw the leaves, she gasped. She removed the lid and smelled the contents lightly. She handed it to Vesemir when he held out his hand.

Geralt came closer and peered into the jar. He was beginning to panic. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

Vesemir looked alarmed. “This isn’t tansy tea, it’s Pennyroyal.” He explained for Geralt. “It’s poison. She’s taking it to avoid having a child. She plays a dangerous game with her health.”

Geralt was quiet for a long while. Since he married Yennefer, he thought the one place they had been honest with each other was in their bed. Geralt’s face flamed. He was embarrassed that she would do such a thing, and even more so that she hid it from him. She would drink poison rather than bear his child. Anger and betrayal clouded his senses.

Vesemir and Nenneke both spared him the humiliation of speaking of it any longer.

He clenched his jaw and took the jar from his father. Geralt spun on his heel and whipped the small receptacle into the hearth. It shattered against the masonry and the glass sizzled in the heat of the small fire Vesemir had stoked.

“Father, send to the Völsung in my name. It appears I’m going to have to accept the daughter that was offered to me.”

Vesemir tried to temper his son. “Now Geralt, I’m sure if you talk to Yennef-“

“I have spoken to her. I have been patient and treated her with kindness. I have done my best to see to her needs. Bloody hell, I sailed for weeks to bring you here,” he gestured toward Nenneke, “and yet I am met only with her nasty tongue and betrayal!” He seethed. “I need a wife, heirs. She chooses to give me neither, and the answer is simple. I must replace her.”

He stormed out and slammed the door for the second time in as many days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Völsung - Like Wylfing, an actual clan :)  
> Also wanted to note that while I'll credit ideas at the end of the fic, that I've borrowed concepts along the way from Julie Garwood's historical romance novels. I read those bad boys in high school and while they mostly feature Scottish chieftains, the dynamic here for me is similar. It's always a slip of an Englishwoman in the wilds of Scotland, surrounded by giants. The boy throwing the rocks is borrowed directly, for example, along with having one of Geralt's men keeping an eye on her. As much for their defense as hers, tiny spitfires!


	9. Humbled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't intending to post this until tomorrow, but it comes tonight as a peace offering. :) Again, this chapter is going to pull heavy on the angst tag, but getting through it will get us closer to fluff. The second trigger warning I gave in chapter one's AN comes into play here, so if that topic is a hard one, go ahead and skip please. :)
> 
> I'm so thrilled and honored that you're all so invested in these two, and I thank you for your wonderful comments and insights! You are making this SO fun! <3

-Geralt-

Renfri had been smuggling the tea for Yennefer, under the premise that it was for indigestion. Neither of them knew enough about the tansy leaf to know that they had the wrong plant. He tracked down the prostitute who had been the source of the dangerous medicine and put an abrupt end to Yennefer’s supply line. Renfri cried when she found out what she had unknowingly been giving her mistress, and her tears made Geralt all the angrier for Yennefer’s deception.

Lambert’s son scrubbed pots and pans in the large kitchen next to his mother, after receiving a scolding from Geralt that would have made a grown man cry.

Geralt kept his distance from his wife, too angry to face her. In truth, he was hurt. He had been fooled by her beautiful face and her malicious wit. She would never care for anyone but herself. He had unknowingly left himself vulnerable to her, and he would no longer be fooled. He felt that he was back in control of his life and emotions, and yet, he still felt a sense of dread.

\------

-Yennefer-

Yennefer couldn’t find her tansy leaves. Geralt hadn’t touched her in over a week, so it wasn’t imperative that she have the jar, but she was perplexed as to where it disappeared to.

“Renfri?” The girl jumped from the kitchen sink as though she’d seen a ghost. Yennefer approached with a smile. “I seem to have misplaced my special tea, is there any way to get some early this month?”

She stuttered as though she was afraid, and Yennefer was confused. “N-no, I’m sorry Yennefer.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry. We’ll just get some when we can.” She patted Renfri’s shoulder lightly, not sure why she was so skittish.

“No, you won’t.” Geralt came from the hall quietly. He hadn’t spoken to her in days. “Renfri, you can go.” She dashed off so fast that Yennefer was startled.

Yennefer crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so bitter towards me that you won’t allow me a harmless tea?”

“Yennefer, did you know that the tea you drank was not tansy? That it was poison?” His words were measured, and she could tell he was working hard to keep his composure. How the bloody hell had he found out about her tea?

“Of course it was tansy, it worked.”

Her words sliced him like a knife.

“Pennyroyal. It’s pure poison, and you could have died.”

She was taken aback, not used to being wrong. He couldn’t hold back any longer.

“How dare you? How long have you been drinking that trash?” He put up his hand. “Wait, I don’t want to know how long you’ve been lying, how long you’ve been poisoning yourself just to defy me.”

Her face set in determination. “It has nothing to do with _you_ , you narcissistic brute. I couldn’t force myself to bring a child into this cruel world knowing her fate.”

“She would be here, safe with us. I would never allow a child of mine to be sacrificed because I am too much of a coward to fight for her.” His insinuation regarding her father was clear. “Have you truly been treated cruelly here Yennefer?” She was considering what he said. “Tell me!” He bellowed.

She scowled. “I would rather hurl myself down those stairs and break my own neck than have your child.”

His low growl didn’t scare her. “Don’t threaten me with your life when I have half a mind to take it myself.” The veins in his neck bulged. It was an empty threat and they both knew it. “I bring Nenneke here for you, and this is how you repay me? Lies and betrayal.” His voice lowered. “You make love with me then swallow that filth, you dishonor us both.”

Her hands were rough on her own hips. “It’s not making love when you’re forced to-“

One of the beautiful porcelain plates Nenneke brought with her from Essex went sailing across the room and shattered into a hundred pieces when it hit the wall farthest from them. “Do not utter the word _rape_ to me, when you pine for a man who would take your choice in truth.”

His shoulders shook. “What am I supposed to do with you when – “

She burst out, “If I have a child, then I’ll never be able to leave here! I won’t abandon a baby.”

They were both quiet. There, her true fear had been voiced.

“You still do not understand Yennefer. I am your husband, and you are my wife. The only thing that will part us, is death.”

Her words were a mere whisper. “So be it.”

———

\- Norway, 903 A.D. -

-The Seer’s Cave, Geralt-

Instead of waiting demurely for him to produce his gift, she lit into him. “Boy, what were you thinking?! Sending for the girl was a mistake.”

He was shocked at her passion. She always played at being so uninterested in the affairs of the rest of them. “What’s done is done. I act not for myself, but for my clan.”

“If you think she is unhappy now, wait until she is face to face with her replacement.” She shook her head in disappointment. “Get on with your question, I’ve no mind for your company today.”

He set the velvet pouch on her table, it’s contents a pair of silver earrings he had intended for his wife. He was so cross with her that he wanted the jewelry out of his sight. “Is there anything I can do make her more amenable to me? I cannot sort through her loathing to determine what it is that I can do for her.”

“You plucked her from her mother’s bosom and took her choice. You must face the consequences.” Her words sounded terribly grim.

“Patience is not your strong suit, but I suggest you use every ounce you can muster.” She leaned forward, “She is meant for you, do not give up on her.”

He got her message loud and clear. He acted the brute, and now he had to help her through accepting her future.

Geralt turned and headed back down the dark corridor, tilting his head to fit his height. “Oh, and Geralt?”

He paused, surprised. She never gave free insight. “Keep her away from the sea.”

\------

-Yennefer-

Water lapped around her svelte frame in the oversized tub peacefully. One of the first things the Vikings had found curious about her, was her wish to take long baths, and often. In Essex she would relax with a long soak, lilac or lavender oils relaxing her day away. In the Viking’s wild land, it was an escape, a reminder of home and a desperate need to feel clean.

That day it was more than an escape.

She held the small sleeping draught in her right hand, her left hand between her breasts, her mother’s pendant clutched tight. She tossed her head back and downed the powerful solution, grimacing at the horribly bitter taste. Setting the bottle down gingerly, she thought about how wonderful it would be to see her older brother Jaskier again.

Fever had raged through Essex and taken he at eighteen and her grandmother. They all believed Tissaia would not recover from such a blow, but she was a strong woman. Yennefer wished she was half as strong as her mother.

“I am a coward mama.” She spoke softly out loud, even as her lids began to droop. “Please hurry to be with us again.”

She brought the necklace to her lips and relaxed her bent knees, sinking slowly into the rapidly cooling water.

———

-Geralt-

He grumbled as he walked back to their, her cabin. Their most successful fisherman had broken his arm and was unable to haul in his nets. He had assumed between he and Coën that they could handle the task for the day, but the mud that caked him from his hips down told another story. He stunk, and if he was to hold a council meeting that afternoon he had to rid himself of the offending trousers.

He entered to find the main room empty, her discarded bath water still filling the tub and a piece of dark clothing spilled over the edge. He had some time, he could make use of the leftover water and scrub the mud and grime from his body. He tossed off his shirt and boots, rolling down his sodden trousers and approaching the tub.

The sound he made when he realized she was floating below the surface, resembled that of a horribly wounded animal. He plunged his arms into the cold water and dragged her up and over the edge of the wooden tub. She was limp and her lips held a hauntingly blue tint.

“No, gods, no.” He pleaded, resting her head on the wooden floor and tapping her cheek rapidly. “Breathe, spit it out.” He pressed on her chest, hoping to dislodge the water from her lungs. She didn’t respond, her cool skin making him feel sick to his stomach. He pressed harder, expecting to hear the crack of her ribs, but instead her shoulders jumped and water dribbled from her lips.

He rolled her to the side so her cheek laid on the floor and felt her body’s weak attempts to spew the water and draw breath. He bellowed for help, and a gush of water cleared her mouth. Her breaths were still shallow and her eyes closed, like she was asleep.

“Wake up Yennefer,” he shook her, “cough it up!”

He smacked her cheek in a desperate attempt to rouse her and she began coughing, the last of the water coming forth.

Eskel had been the closest, and he would not soon forget the sight of Geralt and his wife, both naked on the floor in a puddle of water as he helped her gag. He turned on his heel to fetch Vesemir and Nenneke, as the scene in front of him was not one he could fix with his sword.

She finally opened her eyes, her chest heaving and his hand cradled her cheek. Her pupils were sleepy, drugged. Tears streamed down her face, and she looked exhausted. He almost missed her whisper. “Why can’t you just let me go?”

Hurt ripped through him. It wasn’t the first time he had questioned taking her from her home, but it was the first time he felt regret. He didn’t reply, but picked her up off of the floor and laid her in the bed. Nenneke came hurrying in and his father wasn’t far behind. They checked her over and determined he hadn’t broken any of her ribs, and Vesemir found the remains of her sleeping draught.

Yennefer fell asleep again, and Nenneke wept. He and Vesemir stepped outside, and Geralt made a conscious effort to stop his hands from shaking. Vesemir looked to the sky, “Don’t ask me what to do son, because now our waters are dangerous and uncharted.”

“I’ll not take her back to that rapist in Essex.” His tone was firm.

“Good, because I don’t think it would solve anything.”

“The seer revealed that sending for the other woman was a mistake.” His shoulders sank.

Vesemir shook his head. “I told you so before you sent for her. She will be here in a month’s time, expecting to become one of your wives.” He looked back at the door they had come through. “I would not tell her about the girl. Knowing that she won’t bear your children will not bring her peace this day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this is the second time I drowned our poor girl. Never again I vow!


	10. Caretaker

-Geralt-

He used some of the cursed water in her tub to clean himself of the remainder of the mud when they had gone. Even though it was midday, he climbed into the bed beside her. His mind could not stop replaying the image of her floating in the water, and how he felt knowing she blamed him. That cursed seer, _away from the sea_ \- how the hell was he to have known?

He pulled her against his chest, the tonic keeping her slumber deep and peaceful. He buried his face in her sweet smelling hair and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, grateful to his gods and hers for the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath his hand.

He slept with her until after the sun had set. When he woke, she was pushing against his heavy arm in her sleep. Her skin burned. Tiny beads of perspiration gathered at her brow, and she tried to roll to get away from the heat of his body. He released her and brought a cool cloth from the basin on her vanity. Someone had had the wherewithal to remove the tub quietly, likely so he wouldn't wake and hack it to pieces in a rage.

The cloth on her forehead roused her enough that her eyes fluttered open and she began coughing. His stomach tightened. She had been in the cold too long, and she wasn’t out of the woods yet. Her fever raged and her cough worsened, and he stayed by her side for almost two weeks. Nenneke would spend long hours with her during the day so he could sleep and bathe.

Vesemir and Geralt’s men took over his daily responsibilities so he could dribble broth past her lips and hold her while great coughs wracked her body. On the third night she asked him in an exhausted voice, “Why are you trying to help me? Can’t you see I despise you?” There was no passion behind her words.

“That may be so, but I don’t despise _you_. The one I am angry with is myself.” He stopped so she could cough, the action rattling her whole body. “I see now just how unhappy you’ve been, and how you never could have come to love this place as I do. I was wrong to take you from your parents. If I had not been so arrogant, I would have simply burned down your home and killed every man from Essex to France.”

Her sleepy eyes followed his. “That way it would be the natural order of life you resented. Maybe Vesemir would have been the one to maim your...beau,” it pained him to utter the word, “and young Coën the one to slit your father’s throat in front of you. Instead, I spared them in exchange for you, and I have become the one thing you hate the most.”

She thought about what he said until she drifted back to sleep. Some days the fever gave way to nightmares, or full fledged delusions. Nenneke was calming her from a particularly bad vision when he returned from bathing in the hall. He would have loved a swim, but the ice and snow would not allow it. He took the bowl of soup she had been feeding Yennefer and thanked her.

He knew that Nenneke and Eskel had been seeing each other, and he wondered what kind of riot he would have on his hands when the rest of the clan figured out that there may be another Saxon bride for one of their most eligible men.

“Geralt?” She rasped, “Am I dying?” He brought some water to her lips.

“No, I will not allow it. You are far too young to go to Valhalla.”

“I am no warrior.” She argued, recovered from her dream.

“You are indeed. You’ve been fighting me since the moment Eskel dumped you on the grass at my horse’s hooves.” He gave up on the soup for a the time being and accepted a rare moment of communication with her.

“I don’t belong anywhere. I betrayed my Saxon family, and I’ve made a fool of myself before yours. The only way to right it, is to go.”

“Horse shit.” His tone was confident. “You belonged with them when you were a girl, and the woman grown belongs here. The children are asking about their lessons and Nenneke has been beside herself. I can tell that my father is chomping at the bit to have a good debate with you, and Coën is so used to trailing after you he’s been bloody useless. Since you took ill, Renfri’s pies have all been burned.” He deliberately left himself out of the list of his people who missed her. He would not taunt her with affection she clearly didn’t want from him, and doubly so with another woman on the way to become his wife.

When she began feeling better they talked. More so he talked and she listened. He told her about his gods, and many of the legends he had been taught as a boy. She couldn’t feign sleep due to her coughing fits, and before long she was intrigued, asking him if he really believed there was a gigantic serpent lurking in the ocean that would kill any who crossed it’s path.

“Jormungadr is real Yennefer. Many of my ancestors set sail and never returned.” He thought for sure she would fire back with a conflict of logic or her science. He told her of Ragnarök, and reassured her that he would protect her when she responded with a horrified expression.

Her voice was strained from her coughing and he held a mug of honeyed tea for her. “Why would you protect me with your life when I have made it abundantly clear I would not do the same for you?” She was in awe of his devotion to protect her even through her attempts to evade it.

“I do not take our wedding vows lightly.” He tried to remain factual, but there was warmth in his tone.

“You’d be better off to use me as a sacrifice in the temple.” She muttered the words but he heard them clearly.

A quick smile flashed across his face. “Odin would strike me down for sending him a spy, intent on cutting his throat as he slept.”

She reached up and traced her fingers over the hollow of his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing under her unexpected touch. The night she brought the kitchen knife to their bed so long ago, her plan had failed. She whispered, “I suppose it _is_ best that some prayers remain unanswered.”

He wasn’t sure what she was referring to, but she drifted off to sleep shortly after. He let the fire burn low before leaving his tunic and trousers in a heap and sliding under the furs with her. No longer feverish, she sought out his warm body in her sleep, her face tucked against his arm and her legs intertwined with his.

The thought of leaving her care to the women hadn’t occurred to him, and even though she was ill, the time he had spent with her was valuable. He had thought her actions wholly selfish and malicious, when he learned through her fevered rants that she was genuinely torn between the life he offered her and the duty she felt to refuse it. Her deception with the tea had come from a place of fear, authentic concern for herself and the child she might bear.

Her desperation was vividly clear to him now, and even though he didn’t share her concern, he would respect it. He would do his best to guard his heart, if only to learn her better. She cared for him, he knew it deep in his chest, and he hoped she could make peace with him before she put them both through more pain.

\------

-Nenneke-

"Tell me about my mama, please?" 

She and Yennefer sat in Yennefer's big bed, the noon meal warm in their bellies and a fire crackling in the hearth. Yennefer still coughed occasionally, but they were shallow and dry sounding, and she was well on the road to a full recovery. Nenneke sat with her sewing, a new tunic that looked suspiciously like it would fit Eskel's broad frame in her lap. Yennefer's needle sliced through the pink material on her own, a new pillow sleeve for Renfri's younger sister. Her petite fingers seemed to fly across the material, her deft touch leaving an elegant pattern of roses on the corner. 

"What would you like to remember about her most?" Nenneke asked. 

"Not memories, but how she was after I left." Yennefer's fingers slowed. "After loosing gran and Jaskier, I had hoped she wouldn't face any more loss for a while." 

"She was melancholy, but after a while she would talk of your grand and wild life out across the ocean. At first we feared she was losing touch, but I think she was just so hopeful that you were happy and well. I have never seen her so bright and jubilant as she was the day Geralt came for me. He told her that you were safe, and she ran to fetch me as though she had wings."

Yennefer was biting her lip and trying to keep the tears from escaping. 

"She misses you dearly, but she is not expecting you to put your happiness on hold to return to her. A mother's love does not judge, my beautiful friend." 

———

-Yennefer-

The fresh air, even though cold and biting, filled her lungs with renewed energy. Spring would be upon them any day, as the snow had thinned and green grass lined the tracks left by their horse. He wanted to show her his clan’s temple, so she could see in person what they had spoken of while she was ill.

She was genuinely curious now, and the time she spent recovering from her ordeal gave her pause, and had opened up her mind to what her life could become. While she would miss her dear mother until the day she died, she made peace with the fact that their lives had split away in the physical sense. She could still feel her mother’s love in the warm rays of sunshine that broke through the canopy of the trees and painted her face with bright light. She wondered if her mother was tending her spring bulbs in her garden under the very same sun, thinking of her daughter.

She made a vow to herself, to accept kindness where it was given, and to forgive herself for moving on from many of the things she had been taught to cherish. The rest of the clan treated her no differently than they had, those who were friendly to her had not wavered, and those who would call themselves her enemy were silent due to Geralt’s ever looming presence. 

Said presence was draped over her back snugly, and just as warm as the rays on her face. Beyond the bluster and his intimidating appearance, she thought her mother might actually get along with him. He was fair and patient, and he had more than proven his devotion to her in the weeks he saw to her while she recovered. She let her shoulders relax and leaned freely against his broad frame.

He had shaved his beard while she was ill, claiming that she had demanded to see the real and true face of the devil during one of her fevered rants. She remembered no such thing, but had been struck speechless at the rugged beauty of his face the next day. It had begun growing back rapidly, but the image of him without the bit of mask stuck in her mind. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him it seemed, and she had forgiven herself for longing to reach out and touch him.

He was her husband, and she had come to the realization that she could have done worse for a companion. When he was quiet his mind was not empty, but filled to the brim with ideas on how to make his clan thrive, and humming with worry over the well being of his people. She began to understand the immense responsibility he shouldered, and how truly patient he had been while she spiraled through her stubbornness and feelings of depression. He did not wish to be her keeper, but her mate. 

Their horse crested the last rocky incline and the temple came into view, larger and more elaborate than she had predicted. His jaw brushed her hair and she felt him press a kiss to the side of her head as they approached. A black woodpecker hammered away in a tree nearby, shattering the silence as he dismounted and reached to help her do the same.

A blush stained her cheeks as she slid down the front of him, and he pulled her fur lined hood up and over her head. She took his hand and let him lead her inside, where he explained the elaborate carvings of his forefathers and the purpose for the ceremonies held there. She listened intently, reminding herself that she didn’t need to believe, to learn.

When they finished she wandered outside, and walked out onto a rock outcropping that offered a magnificent view. His hand came around her middle from behind and held her securely. She wasn’t sure if he was offering her his warmth, or making sure she wouldn’t jump. The thought sobered her, but she wouldn’t let it beat her. Not any longer.

“When we were married,” she asked, “what was the meaning of the words we spoke?”

He explained, and she crinkled her nose in displeasure. “It sounds like servitude.”

“Now that you have me examining it, I suppose you are right.” His tone was thoughtful.

“I would like our vows to be something different, more like what the Celtic share.” She turned in his arms and faced him, her hands playing over the seam of his cloak. She began to recite them from memory, as they were the stuff of her daydreams as a young girl.

“ _You cannot posses me, for I belong to myself,_ ” he tried to interject but she shook her head. “ _But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give_.” He paused, intrigued. “ _You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways that you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand. I pledge to you, that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night, and the eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite from my meat and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and to tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you, a marriage of equals.”_

He was stroking her cheek with his thumb, following her gaze intently. “What say you husband, could you live by these vows?”

His voice was husky when he spoke, “I would like to try.” She stepped up on her tip toes and captured his bottom lip in hers. He didn’t respond for the first moment, but the sweet press of her soft lips proved too much for him to resist.

He remained hesitant, all to aware of the desperate lengths she would go to avoid having his children and remaining with his clan. He was surprised when she broke their series of kisses and unwound her hands from his hair, only to trace the band of his trousers. She ran her fingertips inside the cloth, skittering along his muscular abdomen.

She knelt down on her knees and pulled apart the cord that held them tight to his tall frame. “Yennefer -“, he warned her even as she eased his cock past the loose cord. She would never understand how her body accepted such a...healthy intrusion, and how he managed to give her such pleasure at the same time.

“I want to kiss you like you kiss me, is it wrong?” She asked him earnestly, but her hands were already stroking him softly. Maybe only whores did what she proposed?

“I’ve told you nothing is wrong between -“ he hissed when she pressed a tender kiss to his shaft.

“That pains you?” She looked up at him with apology in her eyes.

“No, gods no.” He _looked_ like he was struggling, maybe this had been a poor idea.

She made one last attempt and wet her lips, trailing her tongue along a prominent vein and bathing his tip with her mouth. He groaned, low and ragged, one she recognized as pleasure. She carried on, imitating the clever motions he used when he performed the same act on her. She filled her mouth with him and caressed the soft skin at his base.

Before long he nudged her away with his hand, and she looked up to see his expression completely wild. He helped her stand and reached underneath her heavy cloak, it’s cut more forgiving for riding his horse to the temple than her coat. He loosened the leather strap at the back of her dress and peeled it and her shift down to her waist and then her ankles, leaving her bare underneath the furry cape. He sat down on the massive, flat rock, crossing his legs and beckoning her to sit in his lap.

Her pale skin erupted in gooseflesh until she sat facing him on his thighs, her knees wrapped around his waist and her boots resting on the dusting of snow behind his back. He wrapped his arms around her back and bent his head to take her breast in his mouth. She shuddered after the contact before tangling her fingers into his thick white mane. He suckled her with more pressure and she arched more of her flesh toward his hungry lips.

She rolled her hips, sliding her folds against his length. He pulled away from her nipple to curse, and the wet trail he left immediately pebbled in the cool air. He slid her closer and she reached between them. Before he could take his time and be mindful of her, she sank down, taking him to the base without further preamble.

Her cry echoed down the rock face, and was dampened only by the low timbre of his groan. It had been so long, since before her illness and their row about the tea. She began to move her hips, soft mewls of pleasure in her throat. He left one arm around her back and the other hand traveled over her front desperately, squeezing her breast before bringing her close for a hungry kiss.

She could see down into the gorge over his shoulder, and it was thrilling to be so close to danger and yet so far, his body a heavy anchor of safety. “Husband,” she asked, as he lifted her to help her take longer strokes, “are all Vikings similarly blessed with such stamina and big -“ he bit her lip to cease her thoughts of other men and she smirked.

He reached between her churning hips and the smirk was wiped away and replaced by a heady moan. She moved faster and faster until she clamped her arms around his neck and tipped her chin back in ecstasy. He lapped at her neck, feeling her pulse race underneath her skin as she clung to him.

Her shout was guttural as her core fluttered and squeezed him, his shallow, upward thrusts keeping her close. Endorphins flooded her body and she tilted her head back down to his, their foreheads touching as she kissed him.

She felt his hands push underneath her thighs, and suddenly his lips were gone and she fell back onto her elbow with a soft thud. He swore, gripping his cock with his hand and spending himself into the melted snow where she had been sitting on his legs.

Her mind raced with hypothetical things she had done wrong, but it was only a few moments before he came back to her. “I’m sorry,” his words broke through her confusion, “it snuck up on me. Are you alright?” He tucked himself back into his pants quickly. “Did you land on your arm? Let me see it.”

Her arm was fine, she landed softly. He stood and shook the snow from her clothing, hurrying her shift up over her legs. “Have I done something wrong?” She asked.

He stopped, “Of course not,” he leaned up and nuzzled a kiss to her cheek before standing her up and pulling her dress on her. “I don’t want you getting sick again from my carelessness.” He buckled the waist of her dress carefully, his lips tracing her ear as his hands warmed her.

He completed the ties on his trousers and guided her back to their horse. The sun would be setting soon. His arm held her secure as the horse worked slowly through the rocks and snow, back down the side of the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celtic marriage vows I borrowed from Pinterest! <3


	11. Husband, Again

_He completed the ties on his trousers and guided her back to their horse. The sun would be setting soon. His arm held her secure as the horse worked slowly through the rocks and snow, back down the side of the mountain._

_ \------ _

-Yennefer-

He began speaking unexpectedly behind her. “I wrote to the leader of the Völsung clan some weeks past. A year ago he proposed an alliance that would benefit both of our peoples. The terms will satisfy some of our agricultural deficits, as well as the fear that has plagued you all this time.”

She turned in his arms to hear the rest. “His daughter will arrive in the next few days, and the match will solidify the pact between our clan and his.”

“Who will she be matched with?” She didn’t understand what this had to do with her.

“She will marry me, and has already agreed to bear the children you don’t wish to.” She swiveled her head forward again so he couldn’t see her shocked expression. It felt like a great, sucking void had opened in her stomach and she thought she might be sick.

He continued on when she didn’t respond. “I regret that it took me so long to understand your feelings, and that you were forced to take such drastic measures to get it through my head. I don’t want you to hurt again.” He bent to kiss her jaw.

She was quiet.

“Are you pleased with this solution?” He was trying to gauge her reaction.

She steeled herself into a steady voice. “You said you don’t believe in trading women.”

“It’s true, I don’t like the idea but it could not be avoided. My words that day were for any of the daughters we might have had.”

“What happens to me now?” She couldn’t stop the warble in her voice this time.

He turned her chin and surprise reflected back at her in light of her glassy, tear filled eyes. “Nothing will change for you, you’re still my wife.”

“How can that be? You’ll move back to the hall and live with her?”

“To be honest with you I haven’t thought that far in advance.” He wiped at her cheeks. “I just wanted to take the pressure of bearing children away from you. My responsibility to bring my successor is to my people, and I won’t fail them.”

Once again she was thrust into feelings of uncertainly. Again she felt she didn’t belong. What the bloody hell was her purpose now? Brood mare she understood at least.

“I won’t be kind to her.” She turned back around and faced forward in the saddle, the horse plodding along.

“The circumstances are not her fault Yennefer.”

“It’ll be my fault then.”

“I believe, as you used to tell me so often, that _everything_ is _my_ fault. There is some truth there, had I thought with my brain instead of my heart and my cock in Essex you would not be here to worry about it.”

She was too late. "So you regret even laying eyes on me. It is simple as that." 

"I regret the hurt you felt because of my decision, and that I did not listen when you expressed it." 

His apology would have been something she cherished months ago. On this day, it was lost in the wash of rejection that poured over her. She wasn’t sure what would be left of his heart for her after the new, more cooperative, _better_ wife arrived. “I suppose she will hate me too. I’ll not cow down to her Geralt, and don’t you dare ask me to.”

“I would not, she will not be above you in any way.”

Except the girl would. He would be bouncing _her_ in his lap and tucking the furs around _her_ at night. She had only begun to feel better about her lot, and she was opening herself up to spending her life with him.

“How long until you tire of me then?”

He stopped the horse and turned her back to him. “My head will still be full with thoughts of you even when I am cold and in the grave. I am not afraid to tell you that you are under my skin. You infuriate me and give me the most incredible pleasure in the same token. Half of my men think you’ve cast a spell over me, that I would bring another woman to complicate my life just to make you happy.”

“I don’t want her.”

He sighed. “Then you’re willing to -“

She interrupted him. “So what if I am! You’re not the only one that feels like a fool who isn’t in control of themselves when the other is near.”

He pulled her close and slid his lips across her forehead. “I cannot stop what has been put into motion. We must learn to live with her.” To turn her away would mean insult to the clan he wished to ally them with. 

She turned forward and let out a shuddered breath as he spurred the horse back into motion. Just when she began to warm to the idea that he was hers, she would have to share him. The woman was probably some gorgeous blonde warrior who would be a perfect match for him in size and strength. She felt sick at the idea of another woman touching him. She laid her arm over his across her torso.

Would Yennefer hear her pleasured cries ringing through the village? Would his new beauty sit next to him at the head of the table and she would be bumped down to sit with his warriors?

She didn’t think she could do it. She thought of the pair of daggers Vesemir had given her, wrapped in cloth in her top drawer. The woman was going to have to fight her if she wanted her gone. She would not disappear into the night and abandon the children she had been making such progress with. 

They rode for a while and he could tell her mind was crashing from one foul scenario to another. “It will be alright Yennefer.”

“Says you.” She snapped.

Suddenly their horse startled and jerked them backwards. Geralt held the reins firmly and peered through the trees in the dimming light. A black shadow darted over a fallen log, and they realized at the same time that it was a black wolf.

“ _Heimdall’s horn_.” He whispered under his breath. “I’ve never seen a black one this high up on the mountain. It snows most of the year here, her coloring makes her vulnerable.”

He must have been able to guess at the animal’s gender based on her small size. She stared at them, before tipping her long snout and yipping loudly. He began slowly backing their horse the way they’d come. “She’s calling for help, we’d best go wide around.”

He looped the reigns and turned them around, only to come face to face with the snarling mouth of a massive white creature. Geralt pulled the hatchet from his hip.

“No.” She reached back to grab his arm. “He won’t hurt us.”

Geralt disregarded her advice and made to raise the weapon, but true to her prediction the growling animal worked toward it’s mate slowly, flashing eyes pinned on Geralt. It was her wolf, the very one who had saved her life outside the gates. The fur was just beginning to grow back on his shoulder and around his neck.

Once he was close to the smaller wolf, Geralt spurred the horse in the opposite direction and the mare took off, wanting to get away from the wolves as much as Geralt. When they were at a safe distance and the wolves were left behind, his arm loosened around her.

“What makes you think that animal wouldn’t tear your little body limb from limb wife? He was massive, and angry.” 

“I’ve survived a massive white wolf in my bed for months.”

Her glib answer alarmed him, he thought she didn’t understand the danger.

“That beast was threatened and injured, and there is naught more dangerous than that.”

“He’s my wolf Geralt, calm yourself.”

“How hard did you hit the stones by the temple?”

She huffed. “Do not mock me. Vesemir told me he was Odin’s wolf. I’m so glad he survived the coyotes.”

“Something tells me I do not want to know what you’re alluding to.”

“It’s nothing. You were abroad, and I was outside the gates, taking in the … shoreline.”

“Coën lost you and you ran.” He deadpanned.

She ignored him. “There were at least three coyotes, he saved my life. Well, Coën dragged me back, but he fought them alone. That’s how I lost the maps.”

He bristled. “This is true?”

“Yes husband, do you think I’m prone to fabricating such ridiculous stories?” She shook her head at his disbelief. “You tell me of your gods and mythical creatures, and yet you are the first to question them. And no, you may not punish Coën.”

“I _may_ not?”

“You heard me clearly.” She pursed her lips and he gave her a squeeze. 

\------

She paced. 

Nenneke sat on her bed stiffly, while Yennefer paced up and down the length of the room like an angry lioness. "Can you believe it?" She alternated between clenching her fists and wringing her hands. 

"I admit, I was not expecting him to react so swiftly and sharply." Nenneke's expression was sympathetic. 

"I'll give him something swift and sharp." She snapped, turning on her heel. "How _could_ he?"

Nenneke opened her mouth to respond, but she never got the chance. 

"Do you know he acted as though I should be happy? That nothing would change for me? _Shame and rejection_ are nothing." 

Nenneke tried again fruitlessly. 

"I wondered why he had waited so long to take a wife, and now the answer shines in my eyes like the nooning sun, he is a sodding _idiot!_ " Yennefer smacked her fist on the flat of Nenneke's dresser and winced, rubbing her palm. 

Nenneke bit her lip and held back her smile, grateful there was no one in the hall below to hear her rant. She didn't have to ask her why it bothered her, the jealousy poured from her lips like wine. 

"If he thinks for one moment, that I'll lie in the same bed with this perfect, obedient, _goddess_ \- he is sorely mistaken. I don't want to see her, I don't even want to know her name." Her pacing had slowed and she lowered herself to sit on the bed next to Nenneke. Her voice dropped two octaves to a murmur. "Nenneke, what would you do if you were in my place?"

She thought for a moment. "If I didn't want him, and it was a matter of pride only, I would allow her to do her job. Leave the burden of the birthings to her, and I'd spend my time on my own interests. Not the worst life for a lady of your, _er_ , my standing."

"And if you did?" Yennefer's words a whisper. 

"If I wanted that man, I would dig my heals in and fight. She would have to go through me to get her claws in him." Yennefer nodded. "And I would ask my good friend to help me, because I am not alone." She gave Yennefer's arm a squeeze. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the wolves are a little...on the nose, but let me have my fun! :D


	12. Tricked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was set to post this tomorrow, but Happy Friday and thank you for reading! Hopefully you'll continue after what's below.

-Geralt-

The woman that was to be Geralt’s second wife arrived in the middle of the night. Geralt heard Lambert’s knock on their door and carefully extricated himself from their bed, peeling her off of his chest and tucking the blankets around her before he left.

Yennefer was dreading the moment the woman arrived from Völsung. She had been crabby during the day and possessive at night, the long scratches down his back reminding him of her displeasure at the woman’s imminent arrival. 

Geralt and Lambert arrived at the main hall and Nenneke came from above stairs, a warm fire stoked and her room ready to host their guest. Eskel guided the traveling party to the hall, and Vesemir appeared behind Geralt, ready to receive yet another daughter.

The door opened and blustery wind filled the hall. A young woman entered, and Eskel closed the door behind them. “The escort wouldn’t stay.” Eskel provided.

Vesemir, Eskel and Nenneke waited for Geralt to address the girl. She was young, probably close to sixteen years. She had sunny blonde hair, blue eyes, and was dressed in layers of plain clothing. He surmised that she was pretty enough, but he knew his judgment was impaired when it came to assessing women. None would rival the beauty already slumbering in his bed.

He caught the expression on her face, and read the fear. “What is your name?”

“Essi, my lord.” She knelt slightly and bowed her head. He stopped a wide smile from covering his face as he imagined Yennefer’s reaction if she had been instructed to bow to him when she first arrived.

Geralt caught movement behind her skirts and pinned his gaze, realized there was a second pair of boots standing between her legs. Small boots, a child. “Emhyr’s daughter brings with her a child?”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, oh no. This is your bride.” She stepped to the side and revealed a tiny little girl. She held fast to Essi’s skirts with one hand and suckled her thumb with the other.

A loud gasp hissed behind Geralt and he turned to see Yennefer, hastily bundled in one of his cloaks, her hand over her mouth in surprise. She wasn’t the only one who was shocked. Yennefer walked forward, brushing her hand across Geralt’s arm as she went.

The young girl looked exhausted, and no doubt she was from their journey. What in the hell had Emhyr done, sending him a child in a woman’s place?

Yennefer stopped shy when the little girl tried to duck back behind her skirts. “What is your name?” When the little girl didn’t answer, she turned to Essi for assistance. “I’m sorry miss, I don’t know. I volunteered to bring her in the hopes of finding sanctuary here for myself as well. My parents are both gone, and my older brother has a taste for beating those who don’t measure up.”

“You will find it here.” Geralt echoed.

She nodded, pulling a roll of vellum from her cloak, it’s wax seal blood red and stamped with Emhyr’s ring. Geralt came forward and took the missive, slicing open the seal and unfolding the parchment.

Yennefer knelt on the wooden floor and tried again. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful child, how many summers are you lass?” She brightened at the praise, and held up three little fingers, then added a fourth. “I’m going to take off your hat darling.” She removed the woven hat and a pile of fine, ashen hair tumbled down her shoulders.

Geralt read aloud, “Her name is Cirilla.” He lowered the sheet. “Her older sister ran off in the pursuit of a stable hand and this young one is the last of his daughters.”

Yennefer couldn’t stop staring into her emerald eyes. She ran her thumb over the girl’s cheek and realized how cold she was. The girl let go of Essi’s skirt easily enough, and allowed Yennefer to pick her up.

Miniature boots dangled at Yennefer’s thigh as she carried her past them toward the kitchens. “The child is cold Geralt.” The door closed and they were gone.

Nenneke offered her room to Essi, claiming she had somewhere else to stay. Geralt spied Eskel’s hand on the small of her back. He raised his eyebrows and Eskel met his gaze. Too much, it was too early in the morning for all of this unexpected information. Vesemir went back to bed, laughing at his son’s plight all the way.

\------

He entered their bedroom slowly, as not to startle them. Yennefer was sitting in their bed, her back resting against the thick, wooden headboard. The girl was pressed against her side, in a deep, exhausted sleep. She stroked her light hair gently.

He slipped off his boots and cloak, and helped her slide the girl down into the bed. “She is even smaller without the coat.” He observed quietly. She nodded, settling down into the bedding and tightening the furs against the girl’s back. He blew out the candle by the bed and the room was lit only by the low crackle of the hearth.

“I had a dream about your new wife, and in it she was a breathtaking blonde. It seems you got thebeauty I feared after all.”

Geralt smirked. He would figure out the ramifications a child would have on his life in the morning. He laid down, giving them some room, but he laid his arm across the girl’s feet to rest on Yennefer’s hip.

———

Geralt woke to screams. He grappled for his hatchet from the bed frame and squinted into the dark frantically.

“Hush now.” Yennefer spoke softly to the trembling girl. Her face was buried in Yennefer’s bosom, sobs and sniffles muffled into her cotton slip. “He won’t hurt you.” She rubbed the little girl’s back sleepily.

He let out the breath he’d been holding and replaced the weapon. He got halfway under the furs again when her terrified whimpering began again.

“What is it sweeting? Is it because he’s big?” Cirilla hiccuped and nodded. “And he’s a bit scary too, isn’t he?” Another nod. She spoke over her to Geralt. “Maybe we could offer him the thickest, warmest furs to sleep on the floor for tonight. Until we can meet him in the light of day?”

Disbelief was painted across his face. If she thought he was going to sleep on the floor of his own room, she had another thing coming.

“Yes.” The girl’s sweet voice was barely audible, the first word she had uttered in their presence.

Yennefer pleaded with him through her eyes. She was playing dirty. He resisted the urge to grumble for fear it would frighten her further, and he hauled a pile of the unused bedding into a heap on the floor next to Yennefer’s side of the bed.

He settled on his back with a harumph, and Yennefer’s arm snuck over the edge of the bed and felt blindly for him. Cirilla’s tearful sounds had faded to the feint sucking of her thumb in her mouth. He took Yennefer’s hand and brought her soft skin to his lips, covering her palm with kisses. He was surprised and grateful that she had recognized that the girl needed their help and had taken to her so quickly.

Her fingers closed around his hand and she pulled his arm up over the edge of the mattress. She paid similar gratitude to his palm before caressing his thumb with her tongue. The trousers he left on for the girl’s sake pulled tight and she plunged the digit past her lips. He closed his eyes as she swirled her tongue and added suction.

“Wife.” He gruffed in a low voice.

He could feel her smile against his hand, and she released him demurely, one last _thank you_ kiss to his wrist.

\------

-One Hour North, The Seer, Geralt-

“Do not send that girl back, or you will break something in Yennefer’s heart that cannot be repaired.”

He had just crossed the threshold of the cave and she was there, already spewing dictates. “I have never known you to give free advice, what caused this departure?” He was genuinely curious, a pile of luxurious silks under his arm.

“I have never known a pair to cause such chaos for each other as you and your ever suffering wife. It is unprecedented, and upsetting to my stomach.” He handed her the cloth and she ran her beautiful hands across it’s shiny texture.

“Emhyr’s daughter is naught but a child, what use have I for her?” He would not send her back, she was under his care, and he would entertain no queries about it. It was not tradition for a young jarl to accept and raise a child not of his blood, and he expected her to confirm that he should find her a secure home among another of his people. 

“Were you not here last whining and lamenting your lack of a child?”

He scrunched up his face in annoyance, he had hardly whined.

She cackled heartily. “Loki played a trick on you, but in doing so, gave you exactly what you needed. The girl is your responsibility now. Your child.”

“Does that little thing have it in her to lead my people when I’m gone?” To raise the young girl was one thing, but to name her his heir brought another host of problems. Should she remain his only child, would the clan accept a female? He would need to consult Vesemir on the ramifications of such a decision. 

“She comes from good stock, and if she is raised in wisdom she will lead them all.”

“Who do you mean by _all_?”

“I’m feeling fatigued, until next time.” She took his silks and walked toward the heart of the cave.

\------

-Geralt-

Her mirror was too damn tiny. He sat in her chair and bent low, trying to see his neck in the dainty oval frame. Cirilla was already asleep in the center of their bed, her legs and arms splayed wildly. He held the blade to his throat, muttering a foul curse when the door opened behind him and he nicked himself. 

Yennefer entered quietly, bolting the door behind her, a skein of water in her hands. She brought it inside and set the small vessel on the desk where he worked. He raised a brow and she explained softly as not to wake the girl, "She woke thirsty in the night." 

She eyed his operation, and the small gathering of blood at the base of his jaw. "I would help if you wish. I have watched my mother do the same for my father.”

He handed her his blade and sat back in the chair, observing her movements as she rubbed the sliver of soap and brought fresh lather to his skin. She held the blade to his throat, firelight flickering gently on the sharp metal. Running the edge carefully along the grain of his course hair, her movements were confident and gentle. 

He couldn't resist baiting her, his voice quiet as he warned, "Steel yourself, you may uncover the face of the devil." 

She shushed him softly, the purse of her lips and the soothing sound she made calming his frustration. He watched entranced, as her fingers danced over the smooth skin she revealed. She bit her lip in concentration when she reached the dimple in his chin, and he could swear his heart stuttered in his chest. 

Something had changed in her, and he had a strong feeling that the Yennefer he had known since her illness was opening her heart to him, one kind word or caress at a time. 

The tip of her tongue darted out to wet her lip as her blade glided over the last of his beard, and she wiped some excess lather with the corner of her apron. Her smile was warm as she checked her work for misses. Finding none, she laid the handle on the desk and trailed her fingertips along his jaw. "There he is, the man who's face my dreams will not forget." 

Her words ended in a whisper, and he wanted to freeze that exquisite smile, to never allow an ounce of upset to grace her features again. 

Her fingers slid to his chin and she brought her lips to hover above his. " _Mine,_ " she murmured. Her warm skin pressed to his, her tongue slipping past surprised lips to stroke him languidly. He stood to follow her kiss, hands finding her waist and parting them for air. "Why _did_ you shave?" Suddenly she was curious. 

He motioned to the bedroom, to the small lump that snored quietly. His nose bumped hers, chasing her lips for another kiss. "My husband has a soft heart." She searched his gaze to find a knowing smile.

"Don't tell anyone." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry that I had to fib to keep this secret! I had no clue the stress you lovely readers would feel over this arc when I wrote it so long ago, but I hope you can forgive me as our pair navigates this new blessing and challenge in their lives! <3
> 
> Credit and heartfelt thanks to LozaMoza for the last scene! While not as concise and beautiful as the idea/example she offered, it was her idea and we wouldn’t have it without her!


	13. Papa

-In The Following Weeks, Geralt-

She couldn’t be bothered to complain about Keira’s cooking, she had too much to tell him. “She is advanced Geralt. So much so, that I predict she will be reading before the six and seven year old children.”

He chewed thoughtfully. The warmer months were finally upon them and it was muggy in the hall. “Are you paying her more attention than the others?”

“No! Well, I must. She’s so young, and a large portion of a child’s education is sourced from her parents, regardless of her instructor’s efforts.”

Her plate was littered with weeds and vegetables, she had barely taken any of the tender beef. He pushed some of his onto her plate while she was busy looking down the table. She was too thin as it was, and he would not have her ill.

Cirilla was sitting between Nenneke and Eskel, perched on a wooden box made by Vesemir so she could reach the table. Allowing a child at their table was unprecedented, but Yennefer insisted that she would dine with her in the kitchens each meal if she wasn’t permitted to eat with the adults.

His men even complied with Yennefer’s request for a modicum of table manners. Lambert was the only hold out. He argued and moaned at each and every one of Yennefer’s changes, and his wife followed suit. Geralt was beginning to suspect that he had a true dislike of her, right along with Nenneke.

“Should I be worried that my second thinks my daughter is his?” His tone was amused. Her hand found his knee at the use of the word _daughter_. He leaned over her seat to press a kiss to her temple and she returned the beef to his plate.

“She loves them. He hung a swing for her in Nenneke’s garden.”

“Then I shall hang two when the new one is complete.” She smiled knowingly, bringing another forkful of brightly colored vegetables to her lips. It had taken a total of three days for him to figure out that they needed bigger lodging. Yennefer was adamant that Cirilla stay with them, and by the fourth night of swollen misery it became clear that she needed her own room.

He and Yennefer chose together, one of the last uninhabited areas within the walls of the village. They were currently constructing the second floor, which would make theirs one of the largest structures in the area. He had plotted out more windows than were customary, knowing her love of looking out into the wilderness beyond the wall. Thick wooden shutters would be constructed for warmth and security.

“My friend is in love.” Her voice was wistful and he followed her gaze as Nenneke laughed and Eskel smirked. Cirilla noticed that she had their attention and waved her hand furiously, bouncing on her seat. Yennefer blew her a kiss and she smacked her hand over her mouth to return it.

Geralt smiled and she smiled a big toothy grin back, her fear of him all but gone. Emhyr was a bloody fool. The very thought of sending away a child of his own so young made him sick to his stomach. The man thought he tricked Geralt, that he had gotten the best of their arrangement by sending him his child. Instead, the girl had sparked something in Yennefer that he was beginning to wonder if she possessed. Contentment.

The number of people in the great room, along with the heat rolling in from the kitchens was making it downright hot at the table. He caught his father fanning himself for a moment and smirked. A bead of sweat dripped from Yennefer’s hairline down the side of her shapely neck and he leaned to cover it with his mouth. The rest would think him whispering in her ear, while he laved at her heated skin and sucked on her delicate lobe.

“The armory.” He whispered, before standing and walking through the kitchens.

A few minutes later the door the to the little building that housed their surplus weapon supply opened hesitantly. She peered inside and he pulled her the rest of the way in desperately before she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him with hurried need.

He fumbled with his laces and peeled up her skirt. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, most likely because of the heat. “ _Blessed Frey_ wife, are you _trying_ to kill me?”

She pulled away slightly, pulling his bottom lip with her as she went. “Not as often these days.” She grinned through his groan.

He picked her up by the back of her legs and walked them to the only portion of wall not covered by hanging axes and blades. He lowered her over his erection and pressed her back into the wall. “This alright?” He wasn’t sure about her back.

“It is divine, hurry and take me before I combust.” Her arms wrapped around his sides and up his back, gripping his shoulder blades. He tried to keep his hold on her thighs light as he began thrusting steadily into her tight heat. “I am not made of porcelain, I won’t break.”

He moved faster, his pelvis rising to meet hers with more force. She moaned her appreciation into his throat. He married his lips to hers between big gulps of air, and they heard the soft smack of her small leather shoes hitting the floor one by one. He slipped his hand away for a moment to run it across her bodice and over her neck, dislodging one of her hair pins and prompting a waterfall of curls down her neck.

He held both of her legs again and mouthed her collarbone through the thin material of her dress. “Mine,” a low growl on his lips. Her nails scratched along his thin tunic against the warm skin of his back.

“Yours, _oh_!” Her sharp cry drowned out his grunt of approval and she panted and rolled her body against his. She forgot about the wall when her head tipped back and her lashes fluttered. He pulled back as the last pulses of her climax shuddered through her and she shoved at his arms, sinking back down his chest and wrapping her hand over his length.

She knelt and took him in her mouth, while curses flew from his lips and he steadied his arms against the wall. He bunched her hair in one hand and held her steady, her warm tongue caressing his manhood as he emptied himself with a great shuddering bark. She reached for a blade polishing cloth on the shelf next to them and spit his release with a demure expression. He pulled her back up to his mouth and kissed her thoroughly, the hint of him still on her lips.

He returned to the hall first, daring anyone to comment on the sweat that soaked his tunic or the ravenous thirst he had mysteriously acquired. She pulled out her chair to sit back down and he hid his smile behind his mug. Her face was still flushed and her hair looked nothing like the proper design she had worn before. She looked thoroughly debauched and he was damn proud of it.

She took her seat primly and he panned his gaze along the table, a few of the men barely hiding smiles. Lambert and Keira both stood and took their leave, their trenchers still half full of their dinners. They was bordering on disrespect, and Geralt would have to talk to him, again. Were it anyone else, he would have flattened him. Such things were not his favorite part of leading the clan. Vesemir nodded when he met his gaze, even his father was concerned about Lambert’s behavior.

Yennefer was blessedly oblivious to it, and she swiped a piece of meat back from him, her hunger matching his thirst. Nenneke winked at them from the other end of the table. Eskel whispered in Cirilla’s ear and she clapped innocently. Geralt’s brows raised and Yennefer’s face flamed right down to her bosom. Eskel’s laughter filled the hall.

“Wife, will he attend to the privies or an additional shift on the wall?” Geralt chewed thoughtfully.

“Since he used our daughter against us, the privies it is.” She beamed, and it was Geralt’s turn to laugh.

\------

“Hold the line like this.” Geralt demonstrated with his fishing line. He had taken Cirilla to a small pond early in the morning to allow Yennefer to sleep late.

She did her best to mimic his actions and he smiled, leaning to help her small hands feed the thin string.

“If I catch a fish we will eat him?” Her little toes dangled in the water but she did not kick her feet to startle their prey as he advised.

“If he is big enough. If he is a little baby fish like you, we will let him free to get bigger.”

“Will you let me go to get bigger?” She wondered.

“I think we’ll keep you here. Is that alright?” He didn’t know if she and Yennefer had talked about the girl’s life in this manner yet.

Her next question surprised even him. “Are you my papa now?”

“Yes.” He left no room for ambiguity. He watched her face closely for tears and scowls. She watched her string in the water carefully.

“Forever?” She asked.

“Yes. Does that upset you?” She never spoke of Emhyr or Pavetta but he wasn’t sure if thoughts of them plagued her.

Suddenly she squealed, there was a tug on her line. He pulled her into his lap and showed her how to keep the string taunt, her small, pale hands dwarfed by his large, tanned ones. The fish rose from the water and she was mesmerized.

“He’s big!” She cried happily. The trout was medium sized, but big enough for her to take it back with them. Keira would certainly gripe about going to the trouble of preparing only one, but the look on her face was worth it.

They stayed for another little while before he carried her back to break their fast with Yennefer. She ‘carried’ the ball of string and chattered excitedly from her perch on his arm. He held the fish and their other supplies in his other hand.

He opened the cabin door quietly, in case she was still abed. Yennefer stood by the hearth, hanging a pair of his freshly washed shirts when she heard them.

“Mama! I’ve got one! Our supper!”

His tunic slipped from her fingertips and her eyes went wide with surprise. Geralt held up her fish for inspection. “Oh my, it is quite a catch! Wash up and we will go for Renfri’s biscuits and honey.” She ran off to the basin in the bedroom excitedly.

He piled their equipment back into the wicker basket by the door and hung her fish to be taken to the kitchens. “Did you sleep well?” He asked, appreciating the view as she bent to pick up the fallen shirt. His hands settled on the gentle flair of her hips, running his fingers under the ties of the apron she wore to spare her dress from being soiled.

“Too long.” She leaned back against his front, making room for his arms and he rested his chin on her head. “She has never called me that.” It had always been ‘Yen-fer’, and she had picked up ‘Wolf’ from other members of the clan instead of struggling to enunciate his name.

“We spoke.” He knew she would pry every word that the girl had uttered from him eventually. “She is sharp, you were right.” He hurried to correct himself. “About this one thing only, of course.”

“Mhmmm,” she murmured. His hand caressed the side of her breast and she sighed. Cirilla darted from the bedroom and ran for the door. “Ah!” Yennefer called, insisting on brushing out her shimmering curls and tying them in a simple knot at the base of her neck. “You are a young lady, and we will make sure you appear so.”

Yennefer took off her apron and Cirilla harrumphed. “I’m not a lady. I can fish.” She raised her arms for Geralt to pick her up and they closed the door behind them. “Must I have biscuits mama?”

“You may not have _only_ honey for your meal.” Yennefer nodded to Coën and his belle as they headed to the hall as well, her hand warm in Geralt’s.

“Can I papa?” She tried again in a whisper she didn’t think Yennefer could hear.

“You must mind your mother.” He continued in a whispered voice, “I will help you eat them.”

\------

-Yennefer-

He kicked open the door to their bedroom and crossed the threshold blindly, hands full of her derrière and his vision seeking the deep violet of her eyes. She ran her bottom teeth over his throat, one hand buried underneath the collar of this tunic and the other tugging on a fistful of his hair.

He growled when her grip became painful and he tossed her onto the bed. She flipped her glossy hair and smirked, the wild look in her eyes undoing him moment by moment. He crossed his arms and feigned disinterest, until she gathered her skirts up to her waist and spread her knees for him. She leaned back on her elbows and watched his control slip from his face, eyes pinned on her glistening folds as though she was ripe fruit for a starving man.

His gaze jerked back up to her face. “Where is she?”

“With Nenneke and Eskel, they’re showing her the - oof!” She gasped and fell back against the soft furs. He lapped at her hungrily, pushing his face tight to her skin, warm with the thrum of her pulse as it beat faster.

He held her legs and worked his tongue rhythmically while she reached down to run her hands over his. She took her legs from him and he groaned, imagining the spectacle they made. She freed up his hands to caress her inner thigh and curl his fingers inside her. He followed the sound of her breathy moans and flicked his tongue faster, petting her inner walls.

She began instinctually rocking her hips, trying to control his touch and ease the building pressure between her legs. His short beard left her pink where his chin grazed against her sensitive skin, and the sloppy sounds of his lips reached her ears. It was getting to be too much for her. “Ger-alt,” she she breathed, “do not stop.” Her last syllable dragged off into a decadent cry.

The sounds she made would drive him to madness. At the very least she had his cock straining painfully against his trousers. She tasted sweet and tart at the same time, and he would never get enough of her. He withdrew his fingers to lick her from top to bottom and capture a few stray trails of her wetness.

He returned to the little pearl of nerves above her slit and his fingers met with little resistance at her entrance. He added suction and sped up his hand, only to have her leg in his hand again and her fingers tight in his scalp. Her coos turned to wails as she dragged him close and bucked against his mouth. She twitched and spasmed until all that remained was her racing heartbeat and her perilous gasps for air.

He crawled up her body to look her in the face and make sure she was alright. She looked drugged, but she was smiling. He tugged at his laces frantically, unsure if he had ever been so desperate for a woman in his life. They were both still fully clothed when he entered her in one firm thrust.

She moaned, coming back to him, and he grunted in pleasure. Her skirts bunched against his abdomen and he wasted no time setting a quick pace. She wrapped her arms around his back for purchase and tucked her legs behind his, the muscles in his rear flexing under her calves. He found her lips and his tongue slid by hers messily until she pulled back. “Harder.” She ground out near his ear, her ragged moan louder than either of them expected when he complied.

He bunched the bedding under his palms so he wouldn’t bruise the pale skin of her hips and she breathed his name like a mantra. “Louder wife, like your vows at the temple.” His voice rumbled against her cheek and the wooden supports under their bed whined and scraped against the floor. She acquiesced when he shifted the angle of his thrusts and bumped against something so sweet inside her.

She shouted his name opposite her Lord’s on each rock of his hips until her voice cracked and her fingers dug into his back. She quaked below him, her core clenching him so tightly he lost control. He pulled out abruptly and she whined, reaching for him as his release coated her thigh. His damp forehead was buried against her dress between her breasts and the cloth muffled his grunts and groans of frustration.

She slumped back against the furs and he brought the wet cloth from her basin and gently wiped her leg clean. There was a knock on the outer door and he wound his laces and flipped her dress back over her legs. Her lids were heavy and languid.

He answered the door and Cirilla bound into the room and dashed into the bedroom to rouse Yennefer from her _nap_.

“Sorry.” Eskel knew better than to think any sleeping had occurred while the little girl was occupied.

“No apologies, I’m due to weigh in on a few disputes this afternoon anyway.”He gave one last look inside to lock eyes with his wife over the girl’s silvery hair. _I’m sorry_ , she mouthed, and he responded quickly with a shake of his head. _No apologies_.

———

-Vesemir-

Their people managed the supply of food on hand in the village, but he liked to view their stores for himself from time to time. There had been a slip up once when he was in power, and they hadhad a very lean winter. 

Geralt trailed behind him, inspecting a sack of potatoes without enthusiasm. Usually he was razor sharp on matters like this, but Vesemir knew something was weighing on his mind. He nodded, their stores were in order. “Geralt, what is on your mind son?”

“ _So what_ if she’ll be a woman?”

“Who will?”

Geralt frowned. “My daughter.”

“I’m betting that’s the likely course of things. What are you on about?”

“What will it take to get them to accept her? I don’t want anyone questioning her right to take over when I’m gone.”

Vesemir put his hand to his chin in thought. “Tell them it’s her right, and if they have a problem with it to take it up with you now. Once she has had a chance to grow past your knee, she can decide if she wants that responsibility. What does Yennefer say?”

“That she’s too young, and when she is older it should be her choice.”

Vesemir nodded, proud that Yennefer had given the same answer as he, and that Geralt had asked her. There was a time when his son would not have thought such an inquiry necessary.

“Give her the right, and allow Eskel or myself to assist Yennefer in guiding her until she is of age and bears the knowledge necessary.”

Geralt seemed amenable to their solution, taking the small inventory book and beginning a review in ernest. 

“In the meantime, you aught to focus on not dying, as I believe your family has become quite used to having you underfoot.”


	14. Foolish

-Yennefer-

She trailed behind Cirilla, her apron held taunt as the little girl plucked flower after flower and filled the cloth between her fingers. They walked through the open field north of the village, one of Geralt’s men lingering behind them. There was a time she resented the measure as overbearing and controlling, but with Cirilla, she was grateful for the added set of eyes.

She plodded along in front of her, her ashen curls loose and wild in the breeze, babbling sing-song words and telling Yennefer a tall tale about a giant man who lived in a tree. She smiled to herself, some variation of Vesemir’s influence surely. She stopped abruptly, causing Yennefer to stop and the soldier trailing behind them.

“Will papa like some flowers?”

“Oh, I think he would be very proud to see what his girl picked for him.”

She deposited a fistful of buttercups into the apron carefully and continued on for a bigger, better flower her father would certainly take to.

“Cirilla? I’m so very happy to be your mama, but I wondered if you ever felt sad when you remember your first mother.” She took a risk by bringing Pavetta up, Geralt had described their family to her in more detail after she arrived.

“No.” She answered and returned to her task.

“That is quite alright. If you ever do feel sad, you can tell us love, we’ll do our best to make you feel better.”

This time she bothered to turn around. “She didn’t see me too much, the maids played with me.”

“Oh I see, your nursemaids must have been very kind.”

“Some.” She shrugged. “Oh! There!” She pointed frantically behind Yennefer at the flower she wished to pluck.

Yennefer bit her lip to stifle her laughter. “It’s a very mighty flower dear.”

“Like papa.”

“Yes.”

\------

Geralt and his men arrived in the hall for the evening meal, and he approached his chair to find his family seated and a bright red bush perched on the table between his trencher and Yennefer’s. It was nestled in a cloth satchel, and the roots looked like they had been hacked loose with a hatchet.

Yennefer and Cirilla watched his every move as he sat down slowly. Vesemir reached to tickle the girl and Yennefer quickly whispered in his ear. “ _She picked you a flower husband, comment on it’s lovely odor_.” She jerked back straight in her chair before she was noticed.

“Who found this lovely flower for my table? It’s smell is the best I have ever sniffed.” He barked matter-of-factly.

Cirilla preened, and Vesemir’s shoulders shook with laughter. Yennefer reached under the table and squeezed his knee.

———

-Yennefer-

She was learning right along with the children. “Who can tell me which of these five clans do the Wylfing have alliances with?” A young girl of eight raised her hand and answered correctly, so Yennefer proceeded to ask her which commodity each exported through trade and what their most critical import was. Vesemir’s books and charts lay strewn over the table she taught from.

Learning about the differences between the clans was fascinating to her, and made her appreciate that Geralt’s people had not adopted some of the more rigid, brutal old customs.

Suddenly Eskel burst through the doors to the rear of the big room and called for her. The panic on his face told her to make haste, so she pulled down her materials and dismissed the children as she ran for the door. Her heart sank when she followed him to their home. The new structure was almost complete and they had begun packing their things.

She reached for the door and he stopped her. “He lives Yennefer, despite his appearance.” The breath left her body and she pushed open the door. Vesemir bent over his son, who was laid out on the long table in front of the wall. She could see past his body and Lambert’s that Geralt’s boots and trousers were caked with mud. Vesemir tossed a blood soaked cloth to the floor and a sob rattled up through her chest.

She rushed over to the head of the table and nearly wretched. Blood ran from a deep gash that spanned from his hairline down his cheek, almost to his jaw. He was unconscious and there was so much blood that she couldn’t tell if his eye was intact or not. His bright white hair was dyed red and black, and rivulets hung to the underside of the table edge before spattering to the floor.

Vesemir worked low on geralt’s opposite hip, the gashes there more shallow and resembling claw marks. “Eskel,” her mind jolted into action, “we’ll need Nenneke and her bag.” He was gone in an instant.She brushed her fingers across his temples, grateful for the warm skin underneath. “What can I do to help? Please?” She implored Lambert.

“Stay out of my way.” He was harsh, but working quickly to stem the blood flow and she pushed back her anger.

“Help me dear.” Vesemir called her to his hip and instructed her quickly on a simple suture. He had all four ugly slices cleaned and ready to be closed. He went to assist Lambert, holding Geralt’s face taunt to make his stitches even more precise.

“What happened?” Fear that she may never see him alive again blossomed in her mind as she worked quickly and efficiently. It was not so unlike her embroidery, but never had the soft material under her fingers meant so much to her. 

“Coën got between a bear and her cubs. Geralt jumped between the bear and Coën.” Lambert must have been with them. Of course he had done something foolish to save another. Nenneke arrived and began working on poultices and bandages.

Yennefer thought out loud, “Has anyone checked on Coën? He’ll be a mess.” Eskel nodded and ducked back out the door for his brother.

After a long while Lambert and Vesemir finished with his face, and Yennefer and Nenneke packed and bandaged his hip. Lambert left without a word, and Vesemir went to see about the bear hide, promising her he would return.

When the men left, Nenneke hugged her tight and Yennefer wavered in her arms. She reassured her friend, “We’ll keep the wounds clean, he’ll be alright. If his eye is injured when we wakes just keep him calm and call for us.” She left to fetch a few more herbs she thought might help temper the scar when his face began to heal.

She pulled a chair close to the head of the table and alternated between mopping up the river of blood and holding a cool cloth to the pink and angry skin of his cheek. She didn’t know what would become of her if his injuries took him. More importantly, who would care for Cirilla? Her mind replayed images from the last hour, and she fought to keep her emotions at bay.

Eskel and Vesemir returned, and the three of them moved him to the bed gingerly. She addressed them purposefully. “Should something happen to him, who will look after Cirilla?”

Vesemir squeezed her hand. “You would be cared for, and so would she.”

Eskel piped in. “Or he would haunt us all until we hurled ourselves from the top of Black Rock Mountain.”

“He will recover, his stubbornness matches your own.” Vesemir smiled. “Cirilla will stay with Nenneke tonight, and don’t be afraid to give him the sleeping draught if his pain is intolerable.”

———

-Geralt-

The sun set and she fussed over him until she fell asleep slumped over his chest, her nose pressed to the hollow of his throat, his pulse strong against her ear. He woke in incredible pain, this side throbbing and his face hot, stabbing pain shot across his skin and muscle. His whole body felt like he had tumbled down the side of a massive hill.

He could smell her hair and feel her warm breath on his collar. His eye felt tight, but it was too dark in the room to tell if his vision was intact. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and she roused slowly, remembering where she was. “Geralt?” She rasped, propping herself up to look into his eyes.

She brought the candle by the bed closer. “You’re all blood, but it looks like she missed your eye. How bad is the pain? I’ve a draught here to put you back to sleep.”

His voice was ragged, “Burns. No draught.”

“Husband, you best survive this or I’ll crawl to your Valhalla to kill you myself.” He tried to smile, but the pull on his sutures stopped him. She ran her fingertips over his uninjured cheek. “If you wanted to match my scar, you didn’t have to do it in such a grand fashion.” She brought a cup of Nenneke’s pain relieving tea to his lips and held the cool cloth again for him.

“Cirilla?” The rumble of his voice comforted her.

“With her auntie Nen. She doesn’t know how close we came to losing her papa.” Her lip quivered. “What can I do for you, how can I make this better?”

“Naked.” His lip quirked on one side.

Her eyes twinkled in the candlelight and she brushed her lips over his, her touch feather light. There was a knock on the bedroom door and she rose to let Coën enter. She had never seen such upset on his face. He was tearing himself apart with guilt.

She dotted a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Forgive yourself, he will.” He nodded hesitantly and agreed to stay with Geralt while she woke Vesemir to tell him Geralt was awake.

———

-Yennefer-

“I should be with you.”

“Yennefer, it’s not traditional for wives to stand on our councils.” His face was healing well, the hip already scarring over. Lambert had done a good job, and while he would retain quite a scar, it would do nothing to mar his masculine beauty in her eyes.

“I am not a traditional Viking wife. My mother sits by my father’s side for many important decisions.”

He looked skeptical. “Like the one where he let me take you.”

She stood next to the oversized chair Geralt sat in to oversee clan meetings and rule on disputes. Any moment, anyone wishing to inform him of non emergency matters or ask him to settle a conflict would file into the hall, drag benches from the tables and form a group.

She leaned to cup the back of his neck and whisper in his ear confidently. “Do not bait me husband, remember to whom you trust your most vulnerable possessions.” He adjusted himself in the seat uncomfortably and she smiled against the shell of his ear.

“When settling matters, one party leaves unhappy with my ruling. If you are handing out the sentence, will he not hold anger toward you? I’ll not have you hurt over someone’s bitterness.”

She brushed a kiss to his neck just below his ear before sitting up straight. “I understand, and I appreciate your worry, but I would like to try. Some have entrusted their children to me for education, but I would like to have their respect. I know for some my blood will never allow it, but for others who find their minds open?”

“ _My_ mind is open to you wife. Sit in and if you have input please tell me first. I’ll be able to tell if your solution will be met with frustration and keep you safe.”

She smiled, at least _he_ was interested in her ideas. She pulled a chair next to his and it wasn’t long before about thirty men and women sat before them. He addressed the group. “My wife has asked to join in the interest of getting to know you better and to offer her ideas if they may benefit you. You trust your young ones to her, and I’ll remind you that I expect you to treat her with the regard her position warrants.” His tone was firm and his words made something in her belly flutter.

A series of issues were raised, small and large, petty and important. The meeting flowed along until she squeezed his hand and leaned to whisper her thoughts on the matter of possession of a small heard of sheep.

A man named Frode owned the pasture where the sheep grazed, and his neighbor Arne owned land that hosted the stream they drank from. At one point the two families had shared the flock, but differences had led them to seek a final decision on who had more right to the animals. Geralt listened to her suggestion and leaned back intrigued, he nodded for her to present her idea.

“It is nice to make your acquaintance, Frode and Arne. It seems that since the beasts cannot be split up peacefully, that you should both withdraw your resources. Frode, fence off your grazing land and Arne may dam up his stream. Whosever farm the animals migrate toward, unperturbed, shall be the sole owner of them.”

Both men considered her offer, while Geralt’s hand rested on the small of her back. Frode was in agreement, but Arne hesitated. “I fear for the health of the animals mistress, to go without water for what could be days or weeks would be cruel.”

She nodded, a knowing smile gracing her features. “Arne is to become to the owner of the herd. He will take sufficient care of the animals, and as a kind gesture he will provide Frode’s family with one bushel of wool this winter for clothing. Next spring he will give Frode one ram and two ewe, so that he may establish his own herd if he so chooses.”

The men looked to Geralt before each other thoughtfully, and Frode slammed Arne on the back. “Take the beasts from my hands you addled farmer, I’ve no wish to chase them around this year anyway.” Arne hit Frode in the gut lightly and the two men left the hall planning their exchange amiably.

Geralt allowed her to weigh in quite a bit after that, and the room slowly emptied of matters for him to settle. When the last family departed he took her face between his hands and kissed the daylights from her. She licked her lips and then his before he pulled away completely, a confident smile on her face.

“Do you trust me now husband?”

“I have trusted you long before today, it was the rest of them that I was unsure of.”

“I am more than a war trophy. I am intelligent.”

“You are, more so than I, and I can’t let them become wise to it.”

She ran her hands up his back. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” He laughed and they walked toward the door.

“Yennefer, where did you learn such a trick with the sheep?”

She told him and he stopped dead in his tracks, appalled. “To cut a child in half!?” They stepped into the sun and he wound his hand around her waist.

“It was only a test, he wouldn’t have done it. Nor would we have allowed their animals harm.”

“Remind me to fetch a copy of this _Bible_ the next time I am in Christendom, I must know more about this man so my wife does not outshine me in front of my men.” He noted absentmindedly.

“You’ll need more than a book.” She snarked and waited for him to realize.

He growled playfully and flipped her over his shoulder in a cascade of skirts, her peal of laughterlike bells to his ears.


	15. Complete

-Yennefer-

She held fast to his strong arm as their horse navigated the narrow trail, taking them higher up the steep incline. The summer weather was still warm, but the sun was setting rapidly above the trees. Bedrolls were cinched to the horse’s saddle, along with a satchel of food for their breakfast in the morning.

Her hair was twisted high on her head to allow the evening breeze to caress her graceful neck. His own hair was tied off of his neck, the wide handle of his broadsword jutting from the sheath on his back. He ghosted his lips across her collarbone, the neckline of her thin dress wide on her shoulder.

She leaned back into his touch. “I wonder if our girl has destroyed anything of her grandpa’s yet.” She was staying the night with Vesemir, but Nenneke assured Yennefer that she would check in on them.

“Oh, there has certainly been at least one small fire by now, she _is_ her mother’s daughter.”

Yennefer preened, unashamed, before changing the subject. “Nenneke is with child.” She waited for his reaction, and was surprised to find he already knew.

“He asked me for her hand a week ago. I agreed.”

“Thank you. She is twenty six years, and she had resigned herself to be alone before him. I am so happy she found joy.” She sighed wistfully.

They rode for another twenty minutes before the sound of rushing water filled her ears. A narrow, but deep stream poured out over a rocky ledge in the mountain and filled a small lagoon before dipping down the mountain again. She gasped when it came into view. He smiled over her shoulder, glad he had been able to surprise her.

They dismounted in the small clearing and she walked toward the water’s edge. “Is it safe?” She called, dipping her toes in.

He smirked, “Jörmundgander is larger than the entire lagoon wife, you are safe.” She waved away his barb and began divesting herself of her clothes, one article at a time. Her shift landed in a heap on the grass and she unpinned her hair, the soft mass falling down her back like curled raven feathers.

He fumbled to tether the horse’s reigns and kick off his boots, the image of her so alluring that his normally sure hands struggled. She beckoned him with her palm, as though he wasn’t already peeling off his clothes and striding toward her.She stepped into the water cautiously, her hands trailing little wakes from side to side as she walked deeper. He launched into her with a growl, and she came up sputtering and laughing in his arms.

“Yennefer,” she turned toward him, floating off of the pebbled lagoon floor to meet his height. “I have a worry to put to you, a fear.” He never confided such things in her. He was strong for her, strong for Cirilla and the rest of the clan, but hardly ever vulnerable.

“Gift it to me and I’ll see what I can do to settle things for you.” Water lapped over their shoulders.

“My fear is that I cannot breathe without you.”

She was not expecting his confession, nor for him to continue. He stroked his fingers over the swell of her hip and the curve of her shoulder. “If something were to happen to you, I think I would crumble.”

The rush of the water behind them made her wonder if she had misheard him. The emotion reflecting from his golden hazel eyes told her she had not fabricated his words. “You will do no such thing.” She swallowed. “You would not allow harm to befall me, and I would not leave, because I love you.”

His fingers stilled on her skin and he searched her gaze for the rest of the joke. She ran her hands over the scars on his hip, the pattern of her own stitching still traceable in his skin. “When you stood in the hall and told the clan that she was yours, that she would succeed you as though she were your own flesh and blood, I could no longer hide from myself what I know is true.”

His eyes were unfocused as his mind skipped and hopped around her words and what they meant. She smiled, perhaps she had broken him. She moved her hand from his side to his belly, working down until he jolted back to reality and seized her face in his hands, kissing the breath from her. He pulled her body along his and held her close, nuzzling his face to hers and taking quick kisses while they caught their breath.

“Now I am the one who cannot breathe.” She rested her forehead on his and reached again for his manhood, firm against the press of her slick body. He groaned when she wrapped her hand around him and pumped light strokes from the base of him to the tip, her strokes laden with promise. He pulled her against his chest and filled his hands with the fleshy skin of her rear.

She had snapped at him to stop piling his food onto her plate when her gowns grew tight in the bosom and the tush, but he’d only smirked and kept piling. He mouthed her collarbone, sucking the water from her skin and running his teeth over the base of her neck. She leaned her head to the side for him and guided their bodies together, wrapping her legs around his waist and pulling him tight so the hard muscle of his abdomen pressed into her more forgiving shape.

She clung to him and he mumbled sweet words near her ear. She used her legs and her hold on his back to rock against him gently, water rippling out from their movement in the tranquil pool. He seemed content to stay sheathed inside her for eternity, but she needed more. “ _Geralt_.” She squeezed her legs and he got her message.

He walked her to the shore, a few feet of pebbles giving way to green grass. He kept on her shoulder and she startled him by licking a wide path up his neck. He dropped onto the soft grass and she moaned when he bumped her most sensitive spot. She regained control of their bodies and leaned so that he laid back underneath her.

She rolled her hips and bounced over him, gradually leaning her body back over his thighs, his cock stroking high along her inner walls and she closed her eyes with the pleasure of it. One of her arms was propped on his thigh and her other hand left his to squeeze her breast and twist her nipple.

He could barely hold himself back, watching her pleasure herself on his lap. He added his finger between her legs and her movements stuttered, her hand flying from her breast to his other leg. She dug her nails into his muscle as he rocked upward in short, rapid strokes, his thumb in time with his pelvis.

Her cry was so sharp that birds took flight from a nearby tree branch. Her gaze was wild, unable to focus on anything but his face, her knees twitching and shaking against his legs. Slowly she leaned forward, her arms weak and her hair a curtain dark as night. She laid her cheek on his chest, rocking slightly from his steady, shallow thrusts.

When she gathered herself enough to lift her head and kiss him, he picked up his pace, big hands spanning her waist and holding her close. She held his face with her hand and kissed the opposite side, laying careful praise over the neat and narrow slash of pink skin. “Husband.” She murmured, feeling his thrusts become more frantic.

He grunted in acknowledgment but kept moving. “Stay inside.” Warmth flashed in her eyes at his surprise. He reached up to trace her lip with his thumb and she opened her mouth, swirling her tongue over his work worn skin.

“Again.” He urged, no doubt wanting to be sure of her intent.

His wet thumb swiped across her cheek. “I am ready. Finish inside Geralt, give Cirilla a baby sibling.”

Something wild and instinctual lit behind his gaze and he flipped her onto the grass, his hand protecting the back of her head. He drove into her hard and she cried out, wrapping her hands behind her knees, some of her words encouragement and others gibberish. The snap of his hips sharpened and he buried his face in the tresses at her temple. “Mine, mine, _mine_ …”

He had lost all sense, and the coil of pressure in her belly sprang free. He buried himself deep in the cradle of her hips and groaned his release, while her knees slipped from her hands and she grabbed at his sides. She cursed loudly and ground herself against the base of his cock in time with the clench of her core.

His panting breaths were loud in her ear and she opened her eyes slowly. He was propped over her, a cocksure grin on his handsome face as she realized where they were. “Welcome back.” He was still inside her, and when he eased back she winced. His expression grew serious, “You are alright?”

She closed her eyes again, unable to keep the satisfied smiled from her lips. “Yes, but I shall require three days of sleep.”

He kissed her forehead then her lips, bidding her to rest for a while. 

———

The evening breeze stirred her from blissful sleep. The wool of their bedrolls rested against her back, and the blanket that had been folded under the horse’s saddle covered her middle. Not so long ago the feint smell of his horse would have disgusted her. Now the smell reminded her of him and stirred a completely different feeling in her belly.

She was laying on his outstretched arm, her skin warm where it touched his. He laid on his back, staring up at the night sky, a small fire on her other side the only light as the sun fell. “You were snoring.” He accused her with a proud smile.

“Well that is just untrue. A lady never snores.” There was no heat behind her words. “You smell of horse,” she tried.

“You rode me like one.” He absentmindedly traced patterns on the side of her breast.

“I’ve been living with Vikings for the better part of a year. Some of my manners are bound to slip.”

He laughed out loud, tugging her over his body so they were both looking up at the sky. “When the sun is gone the sky will light for you.” He kissed the top of her head and ran his hands over her belly and up and down her sides, teasing her breasts as he went. She could feel his cock against her rear and she wriggled just to tease him.

His hands stilled and he groused in her ear, “Tease me and I’ll be forced to exhaust you again and you’ll miss it.” She smiled but ceased her torture, laying her hands over his as they trailed slowly over her body.

By the time the sun finished setting and the clouds cleared, his fingers were buried in her to the second knuckle and she ground her derrière on his cock anyway, chasing friction against his palm. His hand stopped, “Look.”

Color streaked across the sky like she had never seen before. The most vivid green flowed above them, intermixed with flecks of red or blue if she focused carefully. His deep voice tumbled against her back, “The light reflects off of the armor worn by the Valkyries as they guide fallen warriors home to Odin. If I am lucky, you will see me in the sky this way some day.”

She tried to twist in his arms. “You would leave me here to suffer and struggle just to join your brothers?”

“If I must. I will appeal to Odin on your behalf, to rescue you from your heaven. What reward is Valhalla for me if my hellcat wife cannot join me in eternity.”

She knew he was just trying to placate her, but the thought of losing him just as her heart was full to the brim with joy, was too much to grasp. “The sky is beautiful husband. Odin should be honored to have you.”

He pulled his fingers from her with one last flourish and kissed her softly. “I am here wife, for every moment he allows me.” He shuffled her to the mat next to him and eased her onto her hands and knees. “Let is try this, and you will tell me if you feel pleasure.” Her forearms rested on the blanket comfortably and he ran his hands across her back.

He knelt behind her and found that she was still wet from his hand. He steadied her hips and filled her from behind, her soft epitaph giving him pause. “Yennefer? If you are uncomfortable -“

“No, no -“ He began to pull back and she reached around and grabbed his arm. “No I am not uncomfortable, _stay_.”

He set a slow pace, rocking his pelvis into hers, her glossy hair tumbling up her back. She tipped lower, resting her forehead on her arm in a series of low moans. She pushed her hips back against his and he groaned, careful not to bruise the soft flesh under his hands. He sped up to meet her rapid staccato and she began to whimper and coo when his movements stroked something deep within that made her desperate for more.

She began to babble, her words intelligible until she made out an impressive curse and _God_. She moaned, panting and quivering while he rubbed her back soothingly. His shallow half thrusts kept her spiraling, her hands gripping the blanket for dear life.

When she recovered he began again, long, deep thrusts that scooted her along the bedroll and made his head swim. Unafraid of waking Cirilla or their neighbors she murmured her approval, loudly. She reached up between her legs, and his groan reverberated to the trees when the pads of her fingers brushed his cock.

The sight and sound of her pleasuring herself, and the tight hug of her muscles as she played was so erotic that it did him in. He pitched forward and banded one arm around her middle, the other across her chest. He grunted and groaned into her shoulder blade, his grip the only thing keeping her upright when her knees went weak. Her pitchy cries blended with his deep calls and they crumbled together.

When the last pulse of pleasure subsided she realized he had maneuvered them to their sides, the brush of his chest against her back as he pulled in great gulps of air. She turned to watch his face, and pushed a strand of ivory white hair that had slipped free behind his ear. His cheek was warm and flushed when she laid her palm over it, bringing her lips to his.

———

-Geralt-

Pain burst across his skin, as though he had stumbled upon an angry hive of bees. He didn’t fault the bees, as they were only protecting their queen, and he knew he would do just the same. One of the traders that worked his way through the villages twice a year was a skilled artist, and he had decided it was time to mark himself.

Many of his men bore images of mythical creatures or representations of their gods. He had never felt moved to do so until this time in his life. Why would he need a depiction of a wolf, when he was _the_ White Wolf. Never before had he felt so blessed, and yet terrified. He had been given tremendous gifts, and he would do whatever it took to see that they were not taken from him.

The sting of the needle faded, and the man worked diligently to create the images he requested. He wiped away tendrils of blood from Geralt’s shoulder, working the wood ash deep enough to create a dark, rich blue image. He would give _all_ of his blood for his family, and he prayed his sacrifice would not be any time soon.

The horn began thick in the center of his back, and wound up his side to a point in the center of his shoulder blades. The Gjallarhorn was a symbol of Ragnarök, the epic battle between deities, foretold to bring down the earth in a series of natural disasters and end the human race as they knew it. He would serve his clan and fight for his family until the end of days. Even if the mountains split and the land filled with ocean, he would protect them until his last breath.

The man had cleverly avoided quite a few scars and marks on his back, and the horn was filled with intricate lines from end to end. A robust knot work pattern wove through the horn, and around a few distinct images. An impressive likeness of Yggdrasil sat in the widest part of the horn, for Geralt’s earthly father who had raised him in the ways of their people and provided the foundation and example of the man he strove to be. An elegant raven perched above, her beak graceful and her feathers plumed regally.

The small face of a light wolf stood out where the horn began to narrow, her eyes soft and her teeth small. The three images were separated by two ornamental bands, left open to contrast with the dark image surrounding them. He didn’t need to explain the images to Yennefer when he returned home that night, she had learned enough from Vesemir and himself to know what he intended. He would go to the ends of the earth for them again and again, so long as they would be together, on this plane and the next.

She pulled him close, denying that tears gathered under her lashes. He found her lips, his kiss slow and expressive. She shuddered under the weight of his devotion, returning the caress in kind. He nudged his nose against hers playfully, and he laid on his belly on their bed. Yennefer checked on Cirilla, who was fast asleep on the far side of her pillow. She brought a basin of cool water and a cloth, climbing over his legs to lay on her side and take a closer look at his back. 

She dabbed the pink and angry skin with the cloth, ghosting kisses in her wake as she moved along the dark blue shadows. He piled his head in his hands and was nearly asleep himself when she whispered, "Husband, this raven looks like she has mischief and affection in her eyes. I would think you would request an ill-tempered shrew." 

He grinned against his arms. "What makes you think the raven represents you? Mayhap she is the old, addled woman who lives by the docks and jumps out to scare the children. I have always admired her beauty and grace." He grinned again when she splashed some of the cool water against his neck. 

She finished soothing his skin and set the basin next to the bed, fitting her body over the unaffected side of his back. "Your mark is handsome Geralt. The raven and the wolf pup are blessed to have you." She pressed a kiss to his shoulder blade when she realized he was asleep. 

\-----

-Yennefer-

Yennefer stretched out in their bed, Cirilla cuddled up close to her, thumb in her mouth contentedly. They had been living in their new home for a full week, and the extra room had done wonders for their sanity. Yennefer had added her touches, an embroidered cushion here and a feather pillow there. Geralt's contribution to the main room had been a massive broadsword used by his ancestors that he anchored above the hearth. It made the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh look like a child's toy. Actual toys already littered the rushes under the hearth, two comfortable chairs positioned close to one another around them. 

Cirilla had been excited about having her own space, but she had a feeling that Geralt brought her to their bed before he left in the early hours of the morning. She extricated herself from her little arms and dressed. She dug to the back of the vanity and retrieved the Wylfling broach he had made for her. She felt a pang of guilt at the hurt he must have felt when she rejected it. She pushed the feeling aside, what was done was done. She pinned the intricate broach and roused her daughter for the morning meal.

Ever observant, she noticed the jewelry right away. When she asked where Yennefer acquired it, her answer came quickly. “Your papa gave it to me as a gift, to let everyone know that I _belong_.” She thought back to the days when she feared she would never find her home, and kissed Cirilla on the forehead. They would need a smaller one for her cloak.

She dressed quickly, pulling her gown over her head. “Speaking of gifts,” Yennefer prompted, “isn’t today someone’s special day?” The girl couldn’t remember the actual day she was born, so they had decided to choose one together.

Her face lit up with wonder, “I forgot!”

“We will present your gifts after supper, when papa is with us.” Cirilla agreed excitedly, but Yennefer knew it would be the only thing on her mind all day.

They walked to the hall and took their seats, Cirilla’s chair having been pulled between she and Vesemir so Yennefer could help her cut her food. Renfri brought them their meal just as Geralt and ten of his men entered the hall.

He pulled his chair to sit next to her when he noticed the broach. He sat down as he normally would, but instead of eating he tipped her chin toward his and kissed her passionately. There were a few good natured catcalls and whistles, and when he barely released her to begin again and her hand fell to his shoulder, Coën and Eskel both gave great whoops of approval. Her cheeks colored a bit, but his proud smile when they parted was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing this when you were all reading the first appearance of the I’ll-fated broach! Kudos to you for hangin in there!
> 
> A thank you to LozaMoza for her encouragement and advice (and the horn idea) on Geralt’s tattoo! I was conflicted on giving him one as I see as many sources saying Vikings didn’t have them as I see that they did. But I think this ended up being a great spot for him to choose to add one, in the wake of both of their confessions! 
> 
> Geralt’s announcement to the clan that Cirilla will indisputably succeed him happened off page, so you didn’t miss anything! (We know his thoughts here after that talk with Dadsimir!) (Dadsimir - credit to jmjd bc that is spot on! 😂)


	16. Blessed

-Geralt-

“Open one from your mama first.” He encouraged.

They were up in Cirilla’s new bedroom, her focus on the three packages wrapped in cloth that were perched on her straw mattress. Their bedroom was on the main floor, and three additional rooms on the second. It seemed lavish, but it made sense for them to have more space in the event someone took ill or guests arrived. She blushed thinking about the lagoon, or in case Cirilla ended up with siblings.

She chose the largest, rectangular package first, needing help untying the leather cord that secured the cloth wrap. She unrolled two brand new gowns, one a rosy mauve and the other a brilliant green that would set off her flawless eyes. Yennefer had spent her evenings after the girl went to sleep embroidering beautiful flowers on one, elegant scrollwork and gold trim on the other.

Cirilla ran her hand over the garments reverently. “They’re so pretty,” she cooed, giving Yennefer a tight hug. She opened Geralt’s gift to find a set of small combs and brushes like the ones she had admired on Yennefer’s vanity. Her small hands filled with brightly colored ribbons of every length and color, and she insisted Yennefer brush and plait one of the ribbons into her ashen hair immediately. The last gift was a small stuffed rabbit, sewn by Nenneke and the detail of his face embroidered by Yennefer. The bottom of his foot read _Cirilla_ in Yennefer’s elegant needlepoint.

They put her to bed, her whispers to the rabbit still audible when they left her door ajar. Geralt closed the windows in their bedroom against the evening chill and stripped down to his small clothes. Yennefer bent over the small desk in the corner of the room, penning a letter by candlelight. He approached from behind and rubbed her shoulders.

“Do you wish to read it before I seal it husband?” His seal lay on the desk next to her candle.

“No, I trust you.”He moved her shift to the side and laid wet kisses along her collarbone. Curious, he peeked at her missive and caught a section in the middle. She was writing to her mother;

_“It is with great joy that I write to tell you that you are a grandmother. Our Cirilla officially celebrated_

_her fourth summer, and is quite a beautiful, intelligent child. I’ve finally put the needlepoint you_

_insisted to work on her gowns, and my longing for you was great while I performed the task._

_I must also tell you that our Nenneke has found love. Due to marry Geralt’s second in command_

_and expecting, I have seen her smile more in the last months than in the time since we met.”_

_“_ Wife, you forgot the section about your most handsome husband, who is certainly the most skilled lover from here to Essex. A mighty warrior who’s brains are surpassed only by his ball-“ she silenced him with two fingers over his lips, resting her pen and rising from her chair.

She blew out the candle and turned to him, “Make good on your boast then warrior.”

They made love slowly, tender touches and whispered pleas exchanged in kind. Fingertips caressed and toes curled, the love between them evident as they expressed it through heartfelt glances and passionate shudders. He succumbed to sleep after bringing her to completion a third time, and she wrapped her body around his warm back, her small arm crossed over his broad chest and her face pressed to the back of his neck.

Thinking him asleep, she whispered against his skin. “Oh, how I do love you Geralt.”

On the other side of the pillow, he smiled.

———

-Yennefer-

Nenneke glowed. She had sewn her own dress, her skill with the needle evident as the soft ivory material flowed over the barely there swell of her belly. Yennefer’s silver embroidery gleamed in the morning sun along the bodice and cuffs. Cirilla had placed delicate purple and yellow pansies in her hair as her mother wove an intricate crown of her dark honey colored tresses.

What might be the last warm breeze before outright fall danced over their necks as they stood on the beach. Water lapped at the hull of one of their mighty ships, cutting and effective in the water like the Wylfing themselves. An arch of driftwood had been constructed and lined with antlers and yellow flowers.

Nenneke and Eskel stood with their hands interlocked, eyes only for each other, the same holy man droning on in native Viking tongue who had officiated their ceremony. She and Geralt stood for them, as did Coën and his soon-to-be bride. They exchanged rings and Yennefer spun her own with her thumb. Nenneke’s bouquet in her other hand.

Cirilla fussed at their feet, bored of the man’s drawn out speech. Geralt’s hand left the small of her back to pick her up, winding his free arm back around her waist and she turned to meet his lips in a quick kiss. His warm gaze lingered on her face. Yes, she thought, she certainly could have done worse.

_\------_

_-_ **Norway, 904 A.D. -**

-Six Months Later, Yennefer-

“I am serious friend, you must tell him. Don’t dally.”

Yennefer blushed, Nenneke knew her so well. “I will. If you hear proud bellowing across the village this eve, you will know the source.”

Nenneke’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe it is best you plan for Cirilla to stay with her auntie Nen.”

———

Geralt looked at the pair of thin ropes coiled on their bed skeptically. “What woman’s gossip led this idea to bloom in your head?”

“None. If you don’t want to humor me, then we don’t have to play at it. It really is only pleasurable with a certain amount of trust, in any event.” She went to gather up the ropes and he grunted behind her. She smirked, she _had_ him.

“I trust you wife, you know this. I just don’t know the purpose. I thought you _enjoyed_ my hands on you.”

“Of course I do, but the game is about control.” She danced the ends of the rope along his cheek. “Your size appoints you control, and I want it. For a few moments is all.”

“I would do far worse things for you than this. I’ll warn you, leave me strung up and I’ll paddle your rear until it’s as pink as your blushing cheeks.” His smile only added to the allure of his threat.

She tipped her chin up to brush her lips over his, “Is that a promise?”

He was stripped down on his back in the center of their bed in record time. She secured the second rope to the wooden headboard cautiously, checking that he had enough slack a second time. She could tell by the look on his face that he found her worry amusing.

“How does that feel? It is not supposed to hurt.” She chewed her lip.

“It does not hurt. _Supposed_ to? How many other men have you caught in your web, wife?”

She knew he was only baiting her, and from the steady rise of his cock she knew he was enjoying her game. “Oh, plenty. I’ve discarded them all though, none were able to match my...hunger.”

Desire flashed in his eyes and she smirked. She went to her vanity and slipped off her gown and shift slowly, only to don the new dressing gown he had given her. She heard him huff when she covered her nakedness and she cursed herself for not having the courage to ask this of him before. The image of him laid bare at her whim swirled heat in her belly, and her thighs were already slick with want.

She took a little jar of oils with her to the bed. He watched her like a hawk. She knelt on the bed next to him and rubbed a bit of the oil between her palms. “Where did you get that?”

“I have my ways. Relax your muscles and let me work.”

The oil smelled of peppermint as she worked her fingers into the thick muscle of his chest and shoulders. She bent to take his medallion between her teeth as she massaged his sternum. In truth, she had asked one of the traders to procure it for his knee. He had an old injury that pained him when the weather turned cold, and the oil would help soothe his discomfort. She would no doubt have to strip naked to get him to admit that he hurt and let her help him, but it was a sacrifice she was more than willing to make.

She moved from his torso to his legs, thick bands of muscle melting to butter under her touch. Though, his manhood was undoubtedly not relaxed. When the oil was gone from her hands she took pity on him and planted chaste kisses up the insides of his thighs and around the base of him. She nuzzled and petted everywhere except where he wanted her most.

“Wife.” He grunted.

“Am I hurting you husband?”

“ _No_.” He answered quickly. He would require much more teasing to break his will, but she didn’t hold it against herself. He had the discipline of a warrior, and if she teased him much longer she feared she wouldn’t be able to wait for him to finish herself off.

“Geralt,” the use of his name brought his attention, but his eyes were blown and unfocused. “I think I’ve broken you, you’re leaking.” She emphasized her point by licking the flat of her tongue up the bottom of his cock and wrapping her mouth around the top, her colorful eyes pinned to his as she went.

A shudder rolled through him and the muscles in his arms flexed. He groaned, ragged and broken when she took him all the way, her fingers digging into his hip flexors and her gaze finding his desperate one when she slid back up. Over and over she rose and fell over his length until his hips began to twitch and she felt him close.

She released him gingerly and crawled off of the bed.

“Yenn-,” he cleared his throat, “ _Yennefer_.” He pleaded.

She couldn’t help but smirk, taking only the time needed to remove her dressing gown and crawl back up his body. She leaned over him for a moment, savoring the devotion and lust behind his eyes before bringing her lips to his. He leaned forward to meet her, putting tension on the ropes as he devoured her mouth. The first assertive action she had allowed him.

She reached for him and sank down until her messy thighs rested on his, and his whimper snuck through their kisses. She moved over his body slowly, and just enough that the taunt skin of his groin rubbed her just so.

His arms and legs were rigid, and there was a war going on behind his eyes as he fought completion. She ran her palms over his outstretched arms, appreciating the strength and power he let her harness. She pulled back from his lips and wound her fingers through the soft mane at the back of his neck, taking deeper rolls with her hips and forcing herself keep her eyes locked on his as her resolve gave and pleasure melted through her.

Her jaw dropped and she forgot to breathe, the moment he lost control clear on his face. The ropes pulled taunt and he made a strangled sound, his gaze still locked with hers while her body pulled tight around his pulsing length.

She bowed her head with a shudder, her fingers still massaging patterns in his scalp while she laid wet kisses on his chest. The crisp white hair tickled her nose and she trailed back up to his jaw, neither of them anxious to break their connection.

He mumbled, but she could make out two important words clearly, _love you_. It was evident in everything that he did, but when he began voicing it some months ago, her heart had felt so full.

“Geralt,” she began, “I have a confession to make.”

“Then untie me first so that I may exact my revenge promptly.” There was no uncertainty in his eyes as to what she might reveal, only mirth, and she relished in his trust.

She took a deep breath. “I’m carrying.” She waited for him to react, but he was quiet, contemplative. She tried again, “Nenneke says the baby will come in the fall.”

He searched her expression carefully. “And you are pleased?” He asked softly.

“Yes.” Her voice was strong and her answer true.

He wrapped his hands around her ropes and gave a firm tug, the narrow cords splitting one after the other under the tension. Of course he was only humoring her, damn him. He had done it for her, but next time she would use thicker rope.

He wrapped one arm around her back and held her cheek with the other before he fused his lips to hers and kissed her thoroughly. He was breathless when they parted, “Truly?”

She smiled. It was rare that she could surprise him, and as his shock gave way to excitement, she beamed. “Truly. You are to be a father, again.”

He sat up so fast that they almost bumped foreheads in his hurry to pull her tight to his chest. His beard tickled her shoulder and tendrils of pleasure unfurled at the crush of her breasts against his firm chest. His arms were heavy and warm, holding her impossibly tight and yet carefully tender.

She splayed her hands over his back, dancing over the scars and marks he had acquired over nearly thirty years of sparring and battle, caressing the skin she knew held his mark for them. She used to think he had probably emerged from the womb with a sour look and a tiny sword in his hand, ready to slay his foes and wreak havoc on the world. Now her curious mind flooded with images of an innocent little boy, his eyes bright and tiny features perfect, the spitting image of Vesemir. Oh, how his mother must have exhausted herself trailing after him.

He broke her of her rambling thoughts when he slid his arms down to palm her bottom, his wet kisses trailing up her neck. She hummed at the sensation of him hardening inside her, his lips finding her ear lobe and sucking the delicate skin between his teeth.

He rolled her onto her back without breaking their connection, the furs soft and warm where he laid. He paused for a moment, just looking at her.

“Something wrong?” She wondered out loud.

“No.” He braced his elbow by her shoulder, brushing his fingers through the hair at her temple and nipping at her chin. “I was pondering how many goats I will bring to the temple, to thank Freya for her gift.”

She lifted her knees and rested her calves on the back of his thighs, the change between their bodies flickering in his eyes. She reached up to cup his jaw, whiskers scratchy on her palm. “If she also oversees labor pains, you best bring her the herd.” He covered her smile with his lips, eyes alight with amusement and affection. She gave him a squeeze, and then a smack to his rump to spur him into moving.

His thrusts were slow and deep, their lips only parting for air or a whispered endearment. Before long, her breath began to catch in time with his hips and she pulled the loose band from his hair, twisting her fingers through the soft white strands urgently.

The sound of the wooden hinges holding the front door to the main room surprised them, and he pulled away quickly. He practically leapt across the bed for his sword and left her reaching for air with a surprised cry.

“Mama!” They heard. “Mama, I’ve made three whole stitches! Come see!”

Geralt’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Cirilla!” Nenneke’s flustered voice was close behind. “I asked you to please wait. You can bring her all of your stitches in the morning.”

Yennefer bit her lip, her shoulders quaking with laughter. There was only a bit of protest and a promise secured before they heard the door again, proceeded by Nenneke’s sing-song “We are leaving!”, which was no doubt for their benefit.

Some of the wind had left Geralt’s sails when he crawled back up in the bed. She beckoned him, “Come pleasure your wife, husband. She is with child and horribly cross that you’ve left her unattended.”

Yennefer was proud of her boast until she saw the predatory look that passed over his sharp features. He descended on her with a growl and she squealed in delight.

_\------_

_-_ The Seer’s Cave, Geralt -

She remained in the shadows, examining the silver cross he offered to her. It was plundered from the estate nearest Yennefer’s family, and he hadn’t told her he was in possession of it.

“So you are here for her then, your wife lacked the courage to face me herself? I am surprised in her.”

“She doesn’t know that I am here. I ask for myself, what do you see in the future for my unborn child? If there is to be peril, I would prepare now.”

“I can see things jarl, less so reveal them to you so that you may alter the course of history.”

“Please.” He implored.

“You won’t like what I see.” She warned.

“All the more important that you tell me.”

“To an unborn child conceived of both Viking and Saxon blood, I see the dark pallor of death.”

He walked the length of the cave on unsteady legs.

She called out after him, “I warned you that you would not wish to know!”

He reached his horse and nearly stumbled climbing up into the saddle. He couldn’t tell her.


	17. Enraged

-Yennefer-

Even though Nenneke’s baby was due any day, she remained insistent that she join Yennefer and Vesemir to gather new cuttings of the spring herbs she needed. Their mounts plodded through the weeds, their riders on the lookout for raspberry leaf, nettle roots and wild garlic. The village was still visible behind them in the distance when they slowed their horses and began scouring the plants below, the early morning sun aiding their search.

Yennefer was still learning. “The nettle root, is for pain?”

“Yes,” she responded, “in tea or tincture. A poultice would work well if –“

Her advice was cut short by the whisk of an arrow as it flew past her face and struck Yennefer in the thigh. Before she could scream, Vesemir grunted in pain behind her, another arrow protruding from his shoulder. “Back to the thicket!” he urged.

They turned their horses and rode quickly in the direction of the village before darting into the thick woods adjacent the open field. Blood poured down her leg and the arrow burned and pulled with every movement of the horse. She gripped the shaft for only a moment to realize that the arrowhead was lodged in her saddle, she was pinned.

Once they were fairly well hidden, Vesemir slipped down from his horse and Nenneke did the same, surprisingly agile for her condition. He had put himself between the arrows and the two women, and in the process earned himself another wound, this one in his lower back. Nenneke helped him into a sitting position and held her hand firm on his shoulder.

“I’ll ride back and warn the men.” Yennefer was out of breath, but adrenaline and pain fueled her.

“No!” They both objected at the same time.

Nenneke tried, “I’ll ride –“

“You cannot ride so hard.” She turned the horse so they could see that her riding trousers were soaked with blood and that she didn’t have a choice.

“You cannot either Yennefer, the risk to the baby is real!”

Vesemir was doubled over in pain, but he startled at her words, unaware of Yennefer’s condition.

“I’ll lean forward, just keep him alive until I can bring help.” She urged the horse to the edge of the thicket and saw a contingent of archers on foot, marching steadily toward the village. She recognized their colors and bile rose in her throat. Her father’s army.

“Yennefer, no! You’ll tear your leg to shreds!” Nenneke protested, keeping her voice as quiet as she could. In Yennefer’s mind, a limp would be a small price to pay for the lives of her family.

Hundreds would die if she didn’t warn them, so she tucked her heel and burst from the trees, their protests lost to the woods behind her. She leaned forward off of the saddle and her thigh roared with white hot pain as the arrow moved in her muscle and the pressure of her foot in the stirrup added to the pain.

She stayed as close to the tree line as she could, just outside the range of the archers. She was howling into the horse’s mane when she burst through the front gate. “Coën! Lambert! Someone, help!” she shrieked.

She sobbed with relief when Coën burst from the blacksmith’s shop and rushed toward her. She rushed out her warning, how many archers she counted and how fast they were approaching. He broke the arrow above her leg as carefully as he could and lifted her up and off of it with the blacksmith’s help. She leaned against him while women and children scurried to find cover and the men poured into the armory and readied themselves to fight.

“Leave me,” she urged, giving him the location where Vesemir and Nenneke waited for rescue. Lambert had appeared by then and waved his hand, he would find them and protect them. A mighty horn blew from somewhere in the village, and just like that, every Viking within ten miles knew they were under attack. She was shaking, but she knew that some of her fear was because Geralt was away. He, Eskel, and a group of men had gone on a hunt, having left well before dawn.

Vikings began to appear at the gate behind them, ready to fight. Keira and three other women came forward, dressed in custom made armor and armed to the hilt. The woman would no doubt blame her for the approaching army, as would many of them. Her heart sunk and she wavered from dizziness under Coën’s arm, blood still leaking from her thigh.

Keira and her women slipped through the gate with stealth, and small hands grabbed at her arm. Essi was pulling her against her shoulder, and she knew Coën must lead the men. He gave her a squeeze, “Thank you.” They would have a fighting chance with her warning, but she feared it would not be enough against her father’s entire army. At least they had been forced to leave the horses in Essex to sail.

Coën helped her grasp Essi’s shoulder and made for the armory. “Cirilla, where is she?” She tried to keep the panic from her voice, there was no reason to fear for her.

“She is safe, _hurry mistress_ , with Renfri and the other children below.”

Tears fell from the corners of her eyes from the pain shooting down her leg as she hobbled. Essi led Yennefer to the kitchens and opened up a door cut from the wooden floor. She had never paid any mind to it. She blew air through her teeth and grimaced as she made her way down the steep steps, and her leg gave near the bottom, only to pitch her right into Renfri’s waiting arms.

Essi pulled the door shut behind them and the single candle they had was brought forward. The outer walls of the surprisingly large cellar were lined with shelves full of preserves and what was left of the vegetables from the prior harvest.

Renfri helped her sit on the cool, dirt floor, and she could see the frightened faces of almost the entire clan’s children. Many she knew from her lessons, and one she knew extremely well, when she broke free from the other children and bounded into Yennefer’s lap.

She settled the girl on her good leg and peppered kisses over her face, grateful that she was safe. Renfri was the first of the two women to ask, “What did you see Yennefer? Could you tell what clan it was?”

“It’s not a clan at all, but a Saxon army. My father’s army.” She waited for their judgment, but it never came.

“Mama,” Cirilla whispered, “I’m scared.”

“You haven’t a thing to worry about. Do you think your papa would let anything happen to you?” She looked around at the scared little faces. “Or any of you, your fathers and mothers are all brave and courageous. You have nothing to fear.”

One of the older boys spoke up from the back of the group. “Both my mother and father fight for our people.” It was Lambert and Keira’s boy, the one who had given her the scar on her cheek. “Why don’t you fight?”

She thought of the dagger in the hidden pocket of her trousers. Before she could answer, they began to hear footsteps in the hall above. Renfri shushed them all quickly and blew out the candle.

———

-Coën-

They would lose. The Vikings were far more skilled, and wholly more desperate than the mercenaries, but they were outnumbered ten to one. For every man he cut down, four more filled his place. The man next to him fell, and he realized it was Torsten, a man who had grown up near his childhood home.

Suddenly a loud rumble shook the very ground they fought on. _What now_? The man he fought was disoriented and Coën slid his sword through his ribs. He heard Geralt’s battle cry roar across the open field and sent a prayer up to Odin. They needed the god of war on their side in the worst way.

———

-Vesemir-

He couldn’t feel his legs. He and Nenneke decided that they shouldn’t pull either arrow until they were back in the village, so he rested on the muddy forest floor, laid along a fallen tree. Nenneke hid herself behind the trunk of another thick tree, fortunate to have worn a soft brown kirtle.

They heard a rider approach and he shuffled his shoulders down behind the log, listening intently. The man dismounted, the heavy thump of a large man. “Nenneke?” Praise the gods, it was Lambert. Yennefer made it back to the village alive and sent help.

He walked toward the horses and the tree she was behind, and she peeked out when she heard his voice. “Lambert, is Yennefer alright?” Concern was evident in her voice.

“She is alive for now, let me help you up.”

 _For now_? What in the blazes did that mean? He looked up over the log and his heart stopped.

Blood poured from a long slice across her neck and she made a wet, gurgling sound as she tried to draw air. Lambert’s big fist held her by the hair, his bloody dagger in his other hand. Surprise and horror remained on her face as the life poured from her, sharp eyes dimming rapidly. She held her arm across her belly protectively, even in death.

He searched Lambert’s face for a reason, some explanation for his horrific deed, but he simply snapped her neck for good measure and wiped his blade on her sleeve.

Vesemir bottled his rage, and the urge to wretch, shrinking behind the log again. He couldn’t move his legs, there wasn’t a thing he could have done. Lambert nosed around in the brush for a bit before climbing back up on his horse and galloping away. Vesemir focused on images of Yennefer and his son, willing the gods to let him live long enough to warn them.

———

-Geralt-

He would burn her father at the stake, flay him open with a dull hatchet and then burn the blackguard all over again. The traitorous wretch had betrayed their alliance and made the grave error of sailing to his country to make his own death a very brutal and public one. Yennefer would be upset with him, but he could not excuse the slaughter he and his men had returned to.

Two at a time Geralt dispatched them from his saddle, rage fueling the precise and deadly arcs of his blade. What did Vilgefortz think to gain from this attack? If he wanted to see his daughter again that badly and she agreed, he would have taken her for a visit. A year ago it would have been too high a risk, but she sure as hell seemed content to him now.

Vivid colors stood out behind the fighting, and signified the presence of their leader. He narrowed his eyes and aimed his horse. She would forgive him when she saw how many of their friends had already perished at his hand.

He eliminated the guards serving as his protection without difficulty, and was surprised to find that he actually went after Geralt with his sword. Vilgefortz huffed in frustration, and only few swipes later his sword careened off into the muddy ground.

“Tell me who betrayed me, and I’ll make your death quick.” Geralt offered.

“You can’t, I’m your father-in-law.”

“You have three seconds.” The muscle in Geralt’s jaw ticked.

“No, now get my daughter and bring her -“

His body slid off of Geralt’s blade and fell to the ground with a thump.

———

-Yennefer-

The shuffle of boots above them grew closer and Yennefer whispered for all of the children to sit on the far side of the room. She gave Cirilla a kiss and sent her with Essi, asking Renfri to help her climb onto a pile of crates that were stacked near the narrow steps. They all held their breath, hoping the intruders would bypass the door.

The hinge whined and daylight poured into the dark room. “Yennefer, I’ve come to take you home. This farce has gone on long enough.”

 _Sweet Lord_ , it was Istredd. She hadn’t heard his voice in almost two years. She couldn’t figure out why they had come to slaughter Geralt’s, _her_ people. They had an agreement, an allegiance.

“Your woman warrior told me you were here, there’s no use in hiding. You will marry me as we intended and we will rule your father’s lands, and this one, together.”

She longed for him to shut up. He was making a fool of himself, revealing information he should have kept to himself. Keira. She had given up the location of the cellar, knowing her son would be there taking refuge. Was her hatred for Yennefer so deep rooted that she would endanger her own flesh and blood?

Fashionable boots began their decent down the wooden steps and she leaned back against the earthen wall, her dagger held firm as the tip of his sabre waved and arced near his boots. Their eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but he would be temporarily blinded, and she intended to use her every opportunity.

When he reached the last step she launched herself off of the crates, landing on his back and sinking her dagger home between his ribs. He cursed and rolled, pulling them both to the ground and scrambling for the saber he had dropped in surprise. She clung to her dagger and tried to stab him again, but his elbow slammed into her solar plexus and knocked the air from her lungs.

He found his sabre and stood, finally noticing the huddle of terrified children in the room while she struggled for breath. He felt his side and pulled his hand away bloody. “You traitorous bitch!” He could not fathom how she did not run into his arms, grateful to be rescued from the barbarian ingrates.

A heavy thud sounded behind him and he whirled, coming face to face with a very angry Geralt who had bypassed the stairs altogether. “You!” Istredd shouted and pointed his thin blade.

“ _Me_.” Geralt growled. The hilt of Geralt’s broadsword came rushing toward Istredd’s chest and made quick work of his heart. He yanked the wide blade back and didn’t bother to wait for Istredd’s body to hit the dirt before he knelt and began checking her for injuries.

“I’m fine,” she wheezed, “it’s just the leg and he got me high.” She motioned just below her breasts. “Geralt,” she grabbed for his arms and tried to pull herself up, “I don’t know why he’s here, I swear to my god and yours I –“

“Hush, of course you don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough.” He didn’t like the look of her leg. “Renfri, she’s as pale as a ghost, what have we that’s clean?” He tried to brush some of the bloody fingerprints from her cheek, unsure if they were her blood or Istredd’s. “Do not go anywhere until Vesemir or Nenneke comes for you wife, you need care.”

“Papa!” Cirilla shouted, having heard his voice from the back of the group of children. She rushed forward from Essi’s grasp and barreled into him. He held her to his chest with his free arm.

“Oh,” Yennefer gasped on a sob, “your father is injured. They’re in the south woods, two arrows, Lambert went after them but I haven’t seen either since.”

“Alright, I’ll fetch them, rest.”

Another roar of horses seemed to shake the earth above them. They both knew he had to go. “Stay with your mama, pup.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and one to Yennefer’s lips before darting back up the steps three at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some of that pesky character death I promised in chap 1. :'(


	18. Tormented

-Geralt-

The additional riders were sent from Emhyr, and they arrived just in time to prevent the sheer number of Saxon forces from pushing through the village. At least _one_ of his allies could be kept to their word. Emhyr’s commander told him that Vilgefortz and the leader of the Scylfing made an unholy pact. The Scylfing jarl gave him Geralt’s location, and in exchange he hoped the Saxon army would crush his strongest rival.

Vilgefortz was motivated by nothing but greed, hoping to conquer and reap the benefits of enslaving an entire people. He would have turned on Scylfing eventually, but now it was up to Geralt to take his revenge on the traitorous bastard.

He sat by Yennefer’s bed above the hall, waiting for her to wake. His father was in the room opposite, and he had just come from his bedside. Emhyr’s healer had done what he could for both of them, warning Geralt of Vesemir’s probable paralysis and the possibility that Yennefer may lose the use of her leg. He wasn’t certain about either outcome, but the arrow had been terribly close to Vesemir’s spine, and the damage to her muscle great.

He thought back to when Vesemir wondered if she would survive their winters. She had survived not only one, but two, only to be injured by his inattentiveness. He should have kept a closer eye on her father’s movements and plotting. He lifted the blanket and grasped her hand, the gentle swell of her belly comforting under their hands.

By the time Geralt arrived at the thicket, the tide of the battle had turned. He found their horses first, and when he came across Nenneke's body, he stumbled over and retched. He choked over the awful waste of her child's life, and how easily her fate could have been Yennefer's. Had she not risked her life for others, she would have forfeit her own. 

Geralt closed his eyes and thought about the haunted look on Eskel’s face when he broke the news about Nenneke. Philippa’s prediction had come to pass as they always had. His friend’s devastation washed over him and rage boiled in his veins. To lose both his wife, and his child; his stomach twisted violently at the thought. He knew now that if he lost her, he would lose himself.

Cirilla would mourn Nenneke’s loss heavily, and he could only imagine how upset Yennefer would be. He slipped his other hand to rest on her belly and brought her palm to his lips. Her breathing was uneven and she was fighting to wake. She opened her eyes hesitantly, and they widened when she took in his haggard appearance.

He hadn’t taken the time to wash the blood and grime from his body, wanting to be the one she saw when she woke. “Is the battle over?” She whispered.

He squeezed her hand, “Yes. How is the pain in your leg?”

“Strong.” She admitted. They hadn’t given her anything for the pain, fearing the baby would not tolerate it. “How many deaths now rest against my soul?”

“It was not your fault, don’t think that way. You hinted to me once that you would have preferred to stay in Essex, so by your logic, I am to blame.” He gave her a hint of a smile, hoping he would see hers again soon, despite what he had to tell her. She shook her head negatively to the notion that he was responsible for the attack.

She asked about Cirilla and he reassured her that she was staying with Renfri’s family for the night, and revealed that Vesemir was still asleep, and that he may never walk again. They couldn’t find Lambert, and Eskel had disappeared to mourn his loss. Keira and another of her warriors perished, along with the village healer and countless others.

“Why isn’t she staying with Nenneke?” she asked belatedly of Cirilla. “Is it her time?” Her expression softened before she let go of his hand and began to pull at the bedding. “Geralt, I must go to her. I vowed to help her through her labor.”

He held her hands still. “You’re not to try and walk yet.”

“Then please carry me, I won’t miss it.”

“Yennefer, Nenneke didn’t make it. I am so sorry.” He did his best to keep his tone neutral and waited for an outpouring of grief. It never came.

“Was it the babe? A breech birth?”

She seemed far too factual for his liking. “She was killed.” He squeezed her arm and eased her forward to kiss her temple.

“Oh.”It was like she wasn’t hearing his words.

Vesemir chose that moment to wake, and they could hear his pained moans through the wall. He had thought his father gone as well, but when he rolled his body away from the fallen log, his pulse beat strong in his veins. 

“Go to him.” She gestured to the other room.

“I’ll be right back. I love you Yennefer.”

She gave him a half smile and nodded. He met Coën in the hall, his face red from his own grief over the loss of a sister and a niece or nephew. Geralt clamped his hand on his shoulder and asked him to fetch their borrowed healer from the hall below.

His father worked his way through the draught they had given him and finally opened his eyes. “If you wanted back in on the action, I would have put on you the field.” Geralt tried to lighten the mood in his room.

Vesemir's voice was ragged, as though he struggled to wake just to speak with him. “Son, Lambert killed her.“

\------

-Coën-

He opened the door to Yennefer’s temporary room hesitantly, and was surprised to see her standing, using the edge of the bed to steady herself. She began to waver, until her leg gave out completely and she tumbled to the floor. He lunged and tried to catch her, but he was a second too slow.

He knelt and pulled her into a sitting position, and it only took him a moment to realize she was crying. Yennefer was shaking so hard that she wasn’t even making a sound. She wore her torment on her face, tears pouring down her cheeks.

Suddenly she hauled in a heavy breath and wailed, “Oh, God!” Her small frame trembled against his chest as she wept, and Geralt appeared in the doorway just before Coën began to cry himself. He plucked her from Coën’s arms gratefully and noticed fresh blood seeping through her bandages with a grimace.

She buried her face in his chest, her words muffled, “She was here, for _me_.” He sat on the edge of the bed with her, rubbing her back and trying to sooth her shudders. Coën and the healer took their leave to give them privacy and went to check on Vesemir.

“I want to see her.” She began to tire, her sobs draining what little energy she had.

“Not up close.” A wave of nausea washed over her as her mind conjured gruesome images of her beautiful friend’s body. “Rest now, I’ll come and get you when the funerals begin.”

She opened her mouth and he anticipated her request. “She has been asking about you, I’ll bring her up in just a moment.”

\------

-Geralt-

He was in Hel. His clan was weakened, and they hadn’t yet begun to lick their wounds. The grieving survivors would say their last goodbyes to over fifty brave souls the next day. The number was a miracle in itself, but Geralt felt each and every death, deep in his chest. He was responsible for all of them, and he had failed.

When his father uttered Lambert’s name, betrayal like he had never felt before flooded his senses. He had trusted Yennefer, Cirilla, and every other member of his clan’s safety to the man, and he was a cold blooded murderer.

He had men searching for Lambert, but they had come up empty handed, and now Geralt knew why. Lambert sat alone in the hall, a tray full of mutton and potatoes in front of him. Lambert had proven he was unpredictable, so Geralt took care with his approach.

“Arne’s mutton has improved as of late.” Geralt sat down at the table next to him, one seat away.

Lambert grunted in agreement.

“It was my wife’s advice that settled his dispute, and resulted in better quality animals.” He waited.

“It’s a shame. No doubt the animals will be shriveled and dead from her curse by the fall.” Lambert licked his fingers before shoving more of the potato in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and turned to Geralt. “How is it, that the wives of both of your best men perished yesterday, and yet all the sorrow and pain is given towards that Saxon woman?”

“Nenneke is just as important as Keira.”

“Blasphemy! She was your best shield-maiden, and you treated her with disrespect. Always siding with them, favoring those Saxon witches.”

Geralt’s anger began to boil to the surface. Lambert was flaunting his foul deed, and acted as though he would not retaliate for the slander of his wife. He reminded himself that she was safe. He posted two men by her door as well as his father’s, as a precaution when Vesemir revealed what he witnessed.

“Lambert, why? I trusted you with my life countless times, why throw that away because they were born Saxon?”

Lambert pushed the food away, done with the pretense of a calm meal. “You brought this on yourself, my Jarl. You married that bitch when you should have killed her, and I hope your abomination of a child doesn’t live to draw breath.”

Geralt launched off of the bench and grabbed him by the neck. Lambert landed a solid punch to Geralt’s midsection and they both tumbled to the floor, the bench in splinters around them. Geralt had him on his back, squeezing his neck hard until Lambert managed to upend him with a powerful kick.

Geralt rose to his feet, chest heaving and fury in his eyes. Their heavy boots were loud on the wooden floor as the two big men sized each other up. Both knew how the other fought down to the last detail, having been back to back all their lives. “Take your punishment like a man, Lambert.” Geralt urged.

“And give you and that whore the satisfaction? Never.” Lambert charged at Geralt, and with nothing left to lose, he managed to slide him across the floor and slam his back into the wall. The building shook with the impact, and they grappled, almost evenly matched. Geralt pushed off the wall and wrestled him to the ground, landing a stiff uppercut to Lambert’s jaw.

The blow didn’t phase him enough to halt his hand from pulling a dagger from his belt and attempting to slide it between Geralt’s ribs. He roared in outrage and grabbed Lambert’s hand, squeezing his palm over the hilt until he felt a finger break.

“What the hell is going on here!” Eskel stood just inside the door. Someone must have run to him when they heard the fight. The confusion was plain on his face, and underneath that, raw pain. The men Geralt posted upstairs came running and he beckoned them forward.

Geralt shook loose of Lambert’s grip and stood, pulling the dagger free of his hand. “Tell him.”

Lambert stood and dusted himself off, addressing Eskel. “We have been friends our whole lives? Fought countless foes side by side and worked together to keep food in the bellies of our people?”

Eskel nodded, his gruff “yes”, still one of confusion.

“I have given my life to save yours. Rid you of a poison that would have tainted your soul little by little until you were unrecognizable.” Lambert watched Geralt from the corner of his eye but he remained still, his attention pinned on Lambert, should he make a move to flee.

Eskel was too distraught to play mind games, “Geralt?”

“Nenneke.” Geralt’s voice was whisper soft.

They knew the moment that understanding dawned on his face. “Don’t,” Geralt held out his arm, “we must have a proper meeting.” Geralt reminded him. He motioned for the men to take Lambert into custody. “The meeting will be in my father’s room. We’ll fetch Coën, hear Vesemir’s witness and make a decision.”

Shock was still registered on Eskel’s face, he hadn’t made it to rage yet. When they were alone, Geralt tipped Eskel's face into his broad shoulder and threw a heavy arm around his back.“We all grieve for your loss brother, she will not go unavenged.”

———

Eskel stormed from Vesemir’s room, his furious roar one of betrayal and despair. He bounded down the stairs to the main hall, Geralt and Coën close behind, where four younger men held Lambert on Geralt’s order. He rushed up to his supposed friend, stopping inches away from his face as he drew deep breaths through his teeth, his lips curled in a disgusted snarl.

“You traitorous son of a whore.”

The dark tone of Eskel’s voice licked up Lambert’s spine and he could not control the irked shudder of his shoulders.

“She helped you, she healed your gods damned cough.” He spun on his heel, then turned back, prowling like a caged bear. “Why?!”

Lambert was silent. Eskel turned to Geralt. “I am ready, he is finished.”

Geralt nodded to the men and they dragged Lambert forward. The clan had seen too much death, and Geralt opted to take him outside the village walls. The heavy posts used to support the longest of the wooden docks would serve their purpose, and Geralt and the four men strung him up, his body spread eagle and facing the inlet.

When the ropes pulled tight, Lambert seemed to realize his fate. As though he had been in disbelief that Geralt would order the execution of one of his best men for the murder of a lowly Saxon woman. “Geralt!” He barked. “Odin will strike you down for this blasphemy! She didn’t believe in our way of life, she was a threat!”

Eskel grabbed ahold of Lambert’s war braids and yanked his head back. “My child was a threat!?” He spat the words into Lambert’s ear and pulled his knife down the center of his back. Lambert roared in pain as the skin flayed open.

Coën winced with the first few cracks of Lambert’s ribs. Even Geralt had to look to the heavens for a few moments. Lambert’s screams would haunt his nightmares. He reminded himself that his friend had taken the life of an innocent women and child. He had threatened Yennefer and his own child, and earned the pain he felt.

The whole thing made Geralt sick. Two days ago he trusted the man with their lives. Now his boy would be an orphan, and on Geralt’s order. Lambert’s screams and cries died down, and Eskel’s hatchet slowed. When it was evident that he was dead, Eskel turned to them covered in the blood of his trusted friend, and fell to his knees.

\------

-Yennefer-

The door to her room opened slowly, and the haunted expression on Geralt’s face reminded her of a lost boy. Renfri had wandered back up from the street and painted her a horrific picture of what she saw. Yennefer had lost her friend, but so had he. A man he grew with, fought beside, and trusted with the lives of his clan.

She patted the bed next to her and beckoned him to join her. She pulled herself to a sitting position gingerly while his boots thumped to the floor and he crawled over to her. She wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t speak, and simply buried his face into the warm wool of her dress. She pulled the band from his hair and combed her fingertips through the soft strands, massaging his scalp gently.

“I am sorry for the loss of your friend, however long ago he truly left you.”

He wrapped his arms around her back and held tight, a shudder rolling through his frame. He hid his emotion in her lap, and they stayed that way a long while, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire.

\------

-Geralt-

He could tell she wouldn’t make it the length of the ceremony. It was almost as painful for her thigh to sit as it was to stand, so he held her in his arms. Renfri had kindly volunteered to stay behind and mind Cirilla and some of the other children who were too small to appreciate the significance of the pyres that lined the open field.

It was just as well, because she had already hid her face in his neck more than once to hide her tears. Eskel stood near them, along with Coën and his new bride, Sabrina. They spanned the length of the wall, and one by one, grieving family members dipped their arrows against torches filled with licking flames and fired their bows. Flaming arrows seared across the night sky and struck their marks, igniting thirty or so pyres and ensuring the Valkyries would return for their fallen.

Eskel replaced his bow, and accepted a strong embrace from his brother. Yennefer wiped at her cheeks and motioned for Geralt to set her down. He helped her to Eskel’s feet and she hugged him tightly, his wide frame swallowing up her petite stature. She spoke softly in his ear, words meant only for him, and his stoic expression faltered for a moment. Geralt clapped him on the shoulder and regained his hold on her after her tears failed to cease.

She hadn’t recovered from the blood loss yet, and he knew she would not be able to stay awake much longer. He carried her back inside the wall and laid her in their bed, no longer necessary for her to stay in the hall for constant medical attention.

He helped her into her shift and closed the window, the wind had shifted and he didn’t want her to smell the fires. “Geralt?” They both knew he had to return, but she asked only a moment and he sat on the edge of the bed. “It should have been me.”

Survivor’s guilt was something he was all too familiar with. He had struggled with it for years after losing his brother to a Northumbrian mace. “My words are not to placate you, but the truth. It would have been _both_ of you. The man I once knew was no more, no remnants of a conscience left in his eyes. He would have hunted her if you were the first to fall.” She grasped his hand. He touched her cheek. “Honor her. Live each moment that she cannot, and know you will see her again.”

“Until you come to fetch me.”

He was relieved to see a flicker of humor in her eyes, thinking of his promise the day they ventured to the waterfall. He smiled and bent to brush his nose against hers. “Until I come to fetch my hellcat.” He pressed a firm kiss to her lips. “I will always come for you Yennefer.”


	19. Healing

-Coën-

“I have a request to put to you. Not an order, but a request.”

Coën nodded, willing to do whatever Geralt needed of him. They stood on the long wooden dock, the sun bright on their shoulders as they took a moment to watch the team of shipwrights work below them.

It had only been a few days since the funerals, and Eskel had returned to his duties right off, insisting time alone would only drag out his grief. He was sullen but efficient, and if he coped by keeping busy, Geralt would give him even more tasks by sending Coën on an important errand.

It was time to fetch Yennefer’s mother. It had been his intention to offer her passage before their child was born to begin with, but now that her husband was gone and their army in shambles, she was vulnerable. Word of Vilgefortz’s demise would reach Essex any moment, and he wanted to pull her out of harm’s way before Yennefer’s wild and unpredictable younger brother took the throne.

She had told him stories of Cahir’s childhood, the black sheep of the family who was unable to make friends and fought with Jaskier incessantly. He was unstable at best, a bitter sixteen year old boy thrust into power he was ill trained to manage.

Geralt and Vesemir both agreed that the best course of action would be to offer her a life by her daughter’s side, rather than beingjerked around like a puppet by her son.

“Am I to take “no” for an answer when I arrive?” Coën would know exactly what Geralt asked of him.

“Yes. It is her choice. I have learned my lesson about plucking a woman from her home under protest.”

Coën smirked. “A damn good lesson to learn. A worthy one.”

“You’re smarter than you look, runt.” Coën barely ducked in time to miss his leader’s playful smack.

\------

-Yennefer-

Renfri helped her change the bandage on her leg, and the wound was looking better. No puffiness and it wasn’t warm to the touch, but they weren’t sure about her musculature. They were a week from her injury and hoping to see some improvement in her flexibility.

“Would you like help stretching Yennefer?” Renfri asked.

Yennefer nodded and pushed herself up to a sitting position. “Mama does her stretching every night with papa.” Cirilla reported proudly from her back in the center of the bed, her rabbit snuffling about in the bedding under her hand. With any other person Yennefer would have been horribly embarrassed, but Renfri knew he worked at massaging her calf and flexing her ankle. He was certain she would walk again, and muscle atrophy would not be a help to her.

Cirilla kicked her legs in the air while Yennefer attempted the same. “Renfri,” she rested her leg, “how have you been taking all of this? You’ve been such a wonderful help and I’m worried you haven’t taken any time for yourself.”

“Essi has been a great help in the kitchens, we are fortunate she has a talent for cooking that surpasses Keira’s skill. I am alright, but I have been wondering about her role with the maidens. Would there not be an opening to learn and train with them now?”

The Wylfing shield maidens were so secretive that Yennefer hadn’t even known of their existence until they slipped out past the wall to defend their families. “I am remiss in my knowledge of their customs, let me speak with Geralt, and if it is possible I will do everything I can to see you join them.”

Excitement spread across Renfri's face. “Don’t thank me until I have his blessing.” Yennefer smiled softly.

“I have little doubt he will grant you whatever you ask for.” Renfri’s expression was shy but her words sincere.

\------

-Vesemir-

“Stop being a braggart you impertinent boy.” Vesemir grimaced, moving his arm through the water slowly, his muscles stiff.

The swelling in his back had receded as his injuries healed, and as they hoped, he was able to walk again. He wobbled a bit and his shoulder and arm were terribly sore, but like Yennefer, he would recover.

“I thought it would be a few more years before I had to help you bathe.” Geralt quipped, smirk on his face.

“My mama will help you grandpa, she helps me get squeakin’ clean!” Cirilla sat on the bank, her dress yanked up in a less than proper fashion and her feet in the water, her fishing line tossed out into the depths. “She helps papa too, and kisses the aches away.”

“That’s enough, pup. Watch your line there.” Geralt rumbled.

She gave him a toothy smile while Vesemir’s wry smirk taunted him from the other side. Geralt hovered in the water while he bent and flexed his legs, loosening up his arm enough to sail his fist through the water quite fast.

“Stop moving grandpa, you’ll scare my fish!” Her own feet wiggled and tapped below the surface, so there was little chance of her worry coming true.

“Sing to them sprite, they’ll hop right on the line!” Vesemir offered.

She hummed her own little tune and he turned to his son. “She was brave, Geralt. I feared we wouldn’t find her alive when she left that thicket to warn the others. There is Viking in her heart.” Geralt nodded, accepting the praise for his wife. “Why didn’t you tell me about the babe?”

“Philippa foretold the death of an unborn Viking and Saxon child.” He swallowed. “I feared we wouldn’t have he or she long enough for it to matter.”

It didn’t need to be said out loud that Eskel and Nenneke had paid that price dearly. “What of Lambert’s boy?”

“He leaves for the Völsung in two days. Lambert’s cousin has a boy around his age.”

“I hope he can grow from the hate he was surrounded by.” Vesemir shook his head at the senseless pain that bigotry brought them.

\------

-Yennefer-

They were magnificent.

Short swords flashed and bounced from large, circular shields. They practiced on one of the wooden docks that day, a rarity for group operated by secrets. They had been led by Keira, and now a woman named Margarita instructed their training.

Renfri and Essi both joined the group that day, hoping to be judged worthy to continue into formal training. Coën’s wife Sabrina had joined them in the morning, but she had already been asked to step down, her reflexes not razor sharp as the women required. Yennefer was struck at what an elite group of skilled women they were.

Yennefer had asked if she could observe them out of an immense respect, and to support Renfri. Her sight stature would have been a major hurdle, and now her leg would make it almost impossible for her to have joined the women in such a precise and competitive art.

She had given Sabrina a hug and encouraging words, only to find that she wasn’t upset about her rejection. She had an interest in botany, and wished to learn healing. Gods knew they were in need without Nenneke and the clan’s old medicine man, so she went to begin learning from their borrowed physician right away.

Essi was keeping up, but Renfri stood out. She was fabulously quick at learning their footing, and her toned arms sliced through the air and put a few of the women back on their heels. Yennefer watched proudly from her seat underneath a nearby tree, where Geralt had deposited her that morning at her request.

There was nothing like this for Saxon women, and seeing their battle prowess on display gave her another example of what the Saxon culture and religion denied her gender. Somehow she knew Cirilla would flourish under the training method Margarita used when she came of age. Her stomach tightened at the thought of a young ashen haired beauty who would follow in her father’s footsteps and ride into peril with enormous bravery.

She forced her mind to slow her heart, and reminded herself that she wasn’t yet five summers. Geralt would not allow her to face danger if she were not prepared. She trusted him, both with their children and in the business of battle, and she sent her first prayer to Odin on their behalf.

———

-The Seer’s Cave, Geralt-

“The Scylfing will pay. Stregobor will feel my blade, or I am not the Wolf I claim to be.”

“Posturing is not required with me, Jarl. I know exactly how lethal you are, and where your limits lie.” Philippa clutched the thick gold chain he had pulled from Istredd’s body before it was buried in a large pit with the others. Too good for a man like him.

“What advice have you for me? Does he await my retaliation?” He paced, hell bent on retribution.

“He quakes with fear, and seeks to bolster his ranks before your angry arrival.”

“Who?!” He snarled, the muscles in his neck pulled taunt.

“A threat no larger than a boy conspires against you.”

“Be more specific.” He demanded.

“No.” She parried. “You are not my keeper. Though, I am saddened by your losses.”

“Could you not have given me even the slightest inkling about Lambert’s track? An innocent woman and child died.” His voice sobered.

“Had I given you warning, you would have interfered, and it would be your own wife and child in the grave. A gift I gave to you freely.”

He felt sick. He was to thank her that it was Nenneke left alone with a defenseless Vesemir in the woods instead of Yennefer. He wished to lash out at her, but it would not bring them back. He had an idea of the _boy_ she referred to already, and he hoped the time it took to buy himself a new army would be enough to prevent any real damage done.

“Thank you,” he grated, “for keeping my wife in your good graces.”

\------

-Geralt-

Her hair was getting long again. His hand covered the soft tips on the small of her back, her thick plait loose and elegant. He wrapped his arms over hers and helped her place her fingers correctly on the bow so her shot would be steady and her aim true. He backed up a few steps and she let the arrow fly, just high of her target.

She rested her weight back on her uninjured leg while he retrieved it. She smiled when he returned, and he resisted the urge to simply bend her over his shoulder and take her to his bed for the week. She squinted a bit in the sun, her deep amethyst eyes protected by long charcoal lashes and her pursed lips a tantalizing mauve.

Her gown clung to her curves like never before, the soft material stretching to accommodate the noticeable swell of his child. Soon she would need to wear Nenneke’s gowns, but he knew it was hard for Yennefer to be amongst her things.

He handed her arrow back and pressed his rough cheek to her smooth one. “The bow moved a bit after you released the string. Try to let it rest between your fingers lightly.” She nodded and again he stepped back so she could draw the string taunt to her chin. The bow released with an almost silent whoosh, and when she peered down the field she could see it jutting from the center of her target.

He walked the field and returned again, the afternoon sun warm on his back. “My wife is lethal.” He added the arrow to her small quiver with a grin. He took the bow from her and clasped her hand, walking slowly beside her while she focused on bearing her weight carefully.

“Are you disappointed in me, that I’ll not be a warrior with the women?”

“Gods no, Yennefer. You’ve proven your bravery to the clan. You protected the children in the cellar, and all but ripped your leg apart to warn the rest.” He brought her hand to his lips. “And in honesty, I cannot have you out there. I won’t be unbiased, and I don’t know if I would be able to focus on anything at all if I was worried about you that way.” 

She pulled his hand to her lips this time, her supple lips a warm balm over his rough knuckles. 

\------

-Essex, Coën-

“Cahir, you are acting a fool.” Tissaia’s words fell on deaf ears as he paced and ranted the length of the hall built by his grandfather.

Coën watched in amazement as he continually disrespected his own mother in front of he and his men. Such things were not done among his people, their respect for their elders an important part of their culture.

She tried again. “Your sister’s husband is offering to save you. _Listen_ to his suggestion, think things through.”

He was so small it was comical to Coën. Not only was he a puny Saxon, but not yet a full grown one. The boy spun on his heel and seethed. “He says he will leave men to protect and guide us. I don’t need him breathing down my neck and questioning my decisions. This is _my_ land, my people and my purse! He will swoop from his boats when we are unaware and take it the same way he did Yennefer.”

Tissaia shook her head in disappointment. “I am going to her. Send for your uncle should you become lonely in your stubborn track.”

“Fine!” He threw up his hands. “Abandon everything father worked for and descend into squalor with my sainted whore of a sister!”

Her slap echoed across the stone floor, and Eskel’s palm tightened on his sword, waiting for the boy to retaliate. “You dishonor yourself when you slander your own sister. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Just go, mother. You may take your clothing and sundries, leave the jewelry. I will need that for my future bride.”

What a little upstart piece of shite, Coën thought. Yennefer’s mother shook her head in disappointment, and he sent two men with her to fetch her things. Geralt would be very interested to hear everything he witnessed, and he wasn’t sure the women of this family would be safe from greed until the men were in the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thank you to Superkarka, Ms_Saboteur, JoannePing, Stavroulakii, LozaMoza, jmjd, Larabella11, Farbercynthia123, and DreamerWisherLiar for sticking around after the not-so-fun chapter and letting me know that you're still reading! It helps :D <3


	20. Winner

-Geralt-

The early fall rut had come for the deer, and he and Yennefer sat just inside the tree line next to an open field, west of the village. Apple trees lined the woods on the opposite side, where Vesemir and another of Geralt’s men sat waiting a ways down. The group had tethered their horses where they could be seen, and she sat on his lap at the base of a large tree, their bows resting on the ground next to them.

A group of does grazed on fallen apples, but they waited for something bigger. His arm banded warm across her belly and his thumb stroked her hip through her riding trousers. He had cut a slit in the hip so she could pull them up, and they’d tucked one of his tunics in to cover her skin from the chill in the air. Movement caught their attention, and a large buck broke through the trees and trotted toward the does.

The females were skittish, obsessed with their surroundings and the threat he brought, while he neared them fearlessly, white tail flitting pompously. He neared the first doe and Yennefer’s words were nearly silent, “She wants nothing to do with him, he is a fool.”

Geralt’s lips pressed behind her ear before he smiled wryly, “He knows what he wants wife, and if he’s spry and his antlers big, he’ll get it.”

Another buck, slightly smaller than the first showed himself, huffing white clouds into the frosty air. The first to arrive was having none of it, and he dragged his hooves through the sod angrily. In a flash their antlers clashed and grappled, the hollow sound echoing through the still air. The does watched warily as they grunted and pushed, until the larger of the two backed the intruder down.

Geralt slid her from his lap, “Now, wife. He is yours.” They both drew their weapons, his in the event her shot would not fell the animal. She exhaled fully as he taught her, and her arrow flew from the trees with lethal grace. To his surprise she struck the unsuccessful buck instead, and the champion took off with the does toward the opposite tree line.

An arrow flew from Vesemir’s pair and struck one of the larger females before they disappeared. Yennefer turned to him, “He won, fair and square. Next year’s fawns will be stronger for it.”

He reached to pull a twig from her plait. “It is I, who is the winner.”

———

The small hunting party returned with their kills, three rabbits to add to the deer they earned. Yennefer chatted excitedly about the hunt with Vesemir who smiled and listened patiently. He gave the same face when Cirilla’s tales of the fish she caught grew more exciting each time. There was nothing his father wouldn’t do for them, and Geralt was grateful that he was proud of his son’s family. Odin knew _he_ certainly was.

There was a small group chatting by the kitchens when they entered the hall, and Yennefer froze in her tracks when she recognized the woman’s voice. Her shoulders sagged when she saw her mother, and Tissaia’s smile lit up the room.

Instead of running to her, she turned to Geralt and stepped between his feet, her tearful _thank you_ almost lost in his cloak. He kissed her warmly and released her. Coën entered behind them, and she realized his mission abroad had been to bring her mother _home._ She stepped on her tip toes and kissed his cheek, her second _thank you_ , just as sincere.

The moment her arms left his she hurried across the floor, her limp still noticeable but it did not slow her, and she launched herself into her mother’s embrace. Both women cried, clutching each other, neither interested in letting the other go. Geralt thanked Coën and agreed that the information he held could wait until the evening.

Finally Yennefer pulled away and still they held arms, overjoyed to be reunited. Tissaia dashed the tears on her daughter’s face. “I missed you so Yennefer, you look wonderful.” She was dressed in a man’s shirt, her trousers dirty and barely holding over her belly. “Your gait my girl, are you healed?”

Some of the men took their leave, and Geralt came to stand beside her. Yennefer’s smile sobered a bit, “I am still healing, it was one of father’s archers.”

Tissaia spat a foul curse and Geralt held back his smile, like mother like daughter. “I am glad you are healing well, it does nothing to pull from your beauty Yennefer.” She acknowledged Geralt then. “Son, why has no one told me my daughter is with child? I have already missed things.” Her expression was warm.

Yennefer came to his defense, “Things were chaotic here after the battle. I am so happy you came mother.” She hugged her again.

Geralt spoke up sincerely, “I too am glad you chose to come. I hope you will find contentment here.” Tissaia squeezed Geralt’s handbehind Yennefer’s hip.

“Ahem.” Vesemir cleared his throat, rocking on his heels.

Geralt grinned. “This old curmudgeon is my father. Do not let him bother you, he doesn’t know any better.”

“Geralt!” Yennefer gasped. Vesemir was unperturbed, and proceeded to kiss Tissaia’s hand gallantly. “No mother, Vesemir is wonderful.”

“I’m sure he is.” She gave him a wink. “Yennefer,” her smile was hopeful, “when do I meet my granddaughter?”

———

-Tissaia-

Yennefer and Tissaia left the men to their own devices to see to the processing of the meat, while they went to find Cirilla. They walked hand in hand, Yennefer proudly explaining the purpose of each building or which neighbor resided where. When they arrived at her home, she guided Tissaia into the main room and called for Cirilla, but she and Essi must’ve been off on an adventure.

Tissaia was impressed with Geralt’s accomplishments, and more impressed with the way Yennefer talked of his ideas and achievements. There was a light in her eyes that she couldn’t remember the last time she had seen, even before Yennefer left Essex. Tissaia’s belongings were already stowed in one of the second floor bedrooms, and she took some time to freshen up from her journey.

When she returned, Yennefer hurried to tidy things - wooden toys strewn by the hearth, and a small pile of their clothing due to be washed. She smiled somewhat sheepishly, “It was clean, but I’m slower now.”

Tissaia shook her head, “Your home is lovely, and even more so with signs of life and family all about.”

Yennefer accepted the praise gratefully. “I have endless things to ask and tell you, but I must begin with a hard truth.” She pulled a chair from the table to rest her muscles. “Geralt killed father in battle. He marched on us viciously and killed so many that it was unavoidable. I needed you to know.” Yennefer would not hide the fact that her husband had killed Tissaia’s, her mother deserved to know the truth.

Tissaia’s hand covered Yennefer’s nervous one. “Your Coën broke the news while we traveled, I’m now certain he did so to spare you this moment. I begged your father not to go, but that awful Istredd and the lure of greed and revenge drove him to it.”

Yennefer interrupted, “I thought you favored Istredd as a match for me?”

“He made your father happy and seemed to do the same for you. Selfishly I hoped you would be able to stay in the keep once you married. He changed when you left, stopped trying to impress me and showed his true colors. He was not a fit husband for you or any other gentle lady.”

She sighed, “Your father and I were not a love match, and I don’t hold his death against Geralt. By stopping him, Geralt protected you, my granddaughter, and her little sibling. His family is my own, and I am grateful.”

Yennefer smiled softly, relieved that their actions during the attack would not prove a challenge for her. Tissaia brushed her thumb over the scar on Yennefer’s cheek. “Things were not so easy when I first arrived.” Yennefer admitted. “Geralt took care of it.”

Tissaia smiled softly, “I’m sure he did.”

They had missed the nooning meal, so Yennefer directed them to the kitchens. She could hear Cirilla’s chipper voice before they opened the door. Tissaia stopped her, as if to ask, and Yennefer nodded.

“Mama! I haven’t sneaked any of the berries, tell Essi!”

The corner of her mouth was sticky with blackberry juice. They must have gone picking, and were now making pies. She had flour on her opposite cheek, and Essi rolled out dough with a smile. Cirilla had been laying the berries over the dough in a precise line.

Her bright grin faded a bit when she saw a stranger followed her mother. Yennefer helped her down from the stool and bent down to speak to her as she eyed Tissaia wearily.“Cirilla, this is my mama, your grandmother. She has come to stay with us. Will you greet her?”

Her _hello_ was timid and barely audible. “Hello little one. I have been waiting a very long time to meet you, and you are just as lovely as your mother described you to me. Might I have one of your berries?”

The little girl nodded and stood on her tiptoes to reach the bowl on the table. She swiped two berries, holding one out for Tissaia and scarfing the other down herself. “I think you have picked the very best berries east of Christendom!” Cirilla smiled at her praise. “Would you and your friend here take me picking to the bush tomorrow, and share your secret with me?” She nodded. “Will you give an old lady a hug before she goes?”

“You’re not old. You don’t have white hair. Papa and grandpa are old.” She gave her the requested hug and Yennefer and Essi hid their surprised smirks.

“Oh, Cirilla girl, I love you so already.”

———

She sat in on Yennefer’s lessons the next day, and was overwhelmed by her natural talent with the children. She was patient and understanding, and they opened up to her, trusting in her knowledge and kindness. She was so proud of her little girl.

Dabbing at the corners of her eyes, she thought of how her daughter had blossomed into a confident, kind-hearted young woman. She wondered how much of that was due to Geralt and his people. It was more than evident now, the potential she showed would have wasted away had she married Istredd.

The bench shifted under her and she looked up to see that Geralt’s father sat down next to her. “Is Yennefer’s mother as educated and talented as her daughter?”

“Considering I taught her much of what she knows, I think it’s fair to answer you in the affirmative.”

Vesemir hid his smile at her direct answer. He knew now right where Yennefer sourced her fiery temperament.

“Yennefer is all I could have hoped for my son. I hope that you will find him worthy of her as well.” He would have her admit that his son too, was a good and fitting match.

“Should one be forced to take a ruthless barbarian for a husband, one who would most certainly treat her as the lowest cow, then yes, I appreciate that she is still alive for me to greet.”

He looked up from her gentle hands with outrage, heat gathering at his neck. They were ruthless in battle but to insinuate they mistreat their women was horribly insulting to him. She was smiling. A coy curl of her lips and amusement in her eyes. She had already read him and determined the quickest way to rile him up. Oh, but he wanted to know more about this woman.

He brushed off his anger, knowing it was the rise she wished. “How do you feel about waterfalls?”


	21. Magnificent

-Geralt-

“Are you sure mama can’t come and tuck me still?” Cirilla was properly tucked in her bed but tried one last attempt to delay sleep from her papa.

“I am sure, the stairs are too steep right now for such an old lady.” He grinned.

Yennefer cleared her throat loudly from the table below. Cirilla covered her mouth with her little hand, her eyes wide, knowing he had been caught. He had taken to reminding Cirilla that she was old to garner her patience while Yennefer’s leg healed, but the pregnancy would slow her again soon regardless. “Papa!” she squeaked, “ ‘s not nice.” One of Yennefer’s students had called her _old_ and they all learned that it wasn’t nice after that.

“I will make my apology now, sleep well pup.” The whiskers on his chin tickled her forehead and he made his way back to the main floor, attempting to close the door behind him.

“Papa?”

“Yes?”

“Say mama is not fat, she is having a baby. She likes to hear it.”

He smiled. “I will. Thank you pup.”She blew him a kiss and he left the door open a sliver.

Yennefer closed her book and stood as he approached. “Am I to punish you now as I would one of the children?”

He smirked at her forced ire. “I’m a slight too big to put me over your knee.” Her eyes lit and matched with his mischievous ones.

“Come to me, Yennefer.” She had been even more desperate for his touch than normal, her thirst for the pleasure he brought seemingly insatiable.

She yawned dramatically, “I’m tired, I think I’ll take to my bed early.” She walked past him, regal as a queen, chin held high. He tilted his head to watch her enter the bedroom, and caught her coy glance before the dressing gown slipped from her shoulders.

He supposed he deserved that, but he couldn’t resist trailing after her when she pulled the ribbon from her plait and shook her glossy curls loose. Firelight reflected over them as she ran her comb through her raven locks, and he gathered them in his hand at her nape as she finished, bending to caress the creamy skin of her back with his lips.

He trailed around to her front and she rested her comb, her palms falling to his temples. “I would see my beautiful wife in the light.” He waited just a moment for her protest before picking her up gently and walking her closer to the light given by the hearth. He reached around her hip to pull a thick fur loose from the bedding and laid it at her feet.

He cradled the graceful line of her jaw in his big hands and she closed her eyes slowly, a soft smile on her lips. He feathered kisses across her brow, taking care over her lids and trailing down to meet her lips. He bent to trace the hollow of her throat and she took his cheek in her palm, tugging on his tunic with the other. He paused to pull it over his head, the leather trousers joining it on the wooden floor. He stepped from his small clothes and met her gaze, desire smoldering beside devotion. Her soft hands slid across his collarbones, his wide shoulders thick with bands of sinew and muscle.

He returned to his task, cupping her breasts in each hand, bending to track chaste kisses across her pale skin. His thumbs dragged over her nipples, the rosy tips pebbling as though eager for his familiar attention. He took one into his mouth, in awe of the changes her body made, her flesh heavy and full under his touch.

He knelt, swirling his tongue and suckling her gently, and she bent to kiss the crown of his head. She held him to her, his attention making her heartbeat begin to speed along under her breast. She pulled the band that held his hair gently, combing the wild white mane that slipped free. One side of his hair sat in tight braids, symbolizing his promise of revenge on those who had betrayed them. She broke the silent aura he wove to murmur, “Mine,” possessively into his thick, alabaster locks.

His low growl of approval vibrated against her skin and he moved his hands to the back of her knees, easing her off of her leg and laying her in the thick fur below. He parted from her nipple and she whimpered at the loss. He folded his discarded tunic and bunched the fur under the small of her back, mindful of the ache she had begun to suffer there.

Her thumbs danced over his forehead, tracing the scar that dared mar the beauty of his face, while he warmed a path lower. He eased her knee to the side, unable to halt his groan at the sight of her, damp and ready for him. Her scent washed over him like the most decadent of spells and he inhaled her deeply, his short beard pressed to the rise of her belly.

She followed his eyes, pupils wide in the low light, as strong hands traced the splay of her hips. He would spend the night cuddled at her belly if she let him, but the lure of her soft curls won him. He propped her hips up to keep her gaze and licked a broad swath through her folds, her ragged moan unrecognizable even to him.

His slow, thorough passes began to frustrate her as the pleasure built between her legs. He watched her carefully and she began to pant, her hands searching for purchase in the fur and her soft hums of anticipation sending blood rushing to his groin. He wouldn’t lie, he had been hard since her gown puddled at her feet.

She opened her knees wider, offering herself to him without reserve, her toes curled and buried in the deep fur. He brought her close, his soft licks on the little button of nerves bringing whimpers and sighs to his ears. “Ah, ah!” She forgot to be quiet and shied away from his tongue, twisting her legs in an attempt to control her response. He was having none of it, and only doubled his efforts.

Her cry was silent as she arched up off of the fur, one of her hands finding the side of his face and the other holding on by his hair. He added his fingers just as she quaked, circling and petting her opening while she tried to push him deeper.

When her shakes faded and her hold softened she fell back against the soft hide, her chest heaving with effort to calm her racing heart. He hushed her, making his way back up her body with soothing kisses. He kissed her throughly, thinking of the first time she tasted herself in his bed and the names she snarled back at him.

“There was a time when you were disgusted by me.” He whispered.

She pinned back the hair that fell across his face with her hand. “The girl who left Essex would be disgusted by the woman in your arms. She would judge me for letting you fill my thoughts and take possession of my heart. She would call me lascivious and weak when the mere sound of your voice makes me wet, and that I feel complete only when we are together.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck when he took her lips again, still catching her breath from his. She broke their kiss and stared deeply into the glimmering hazel of his eyes. “That girl was such a bloody fool.”

“She was scared.” He argued.

A warm smile transformed her lips. He would defend her, even to himself. “She is not scared anymore.” Yennefer reached for the silver medallion that hung from his neck and laid between her breasts, she brought it to her lips reverently, “My Wolf.”

He couldn’t wait any longer, he had to have her. He reached between them and she ran her hands across his back, worrying the scars she found and lightly dragging her nails over the curve of the dark blue horn.Even buck naked he cut an imposing figure, between his massive frame, bright alabaster hair, and the scar that marred his striking face. To the others he was a ruthless warrior, and to her, a loving husband and devoted father.

He moved slowly, listening for the slightest sound of discomfort from her. Her soft sighs and hums were all pleasure, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sweet expression on her face. He braced one arm and ran his hand over her belly and up to caress her breast. She brought him close for a breathless kiss and pulled his lip between hers, suckling and nipping the soft flesh between her teeth.

She was everything to him. Her warm, soft skin under his fingers and the tight hug of her core did a number on his control. She bent her knee and held it tight against his side, sliding him deeper with every thrust. “Yennefer.” He was dangerously close to losing himself in her.

“Let slip your control Geralt,” she urged, “let me shoulder your burdens for these moments.”

He couldn’t resist what she offered, and when she tightened around him, he was lost. His release crashed over him in waves, and he shook with the intensity of it. His mind went blessedly calm of his worries, the only thoughts he could muster were the caress of her tender touch and the rushing bliss that began insistent and resolved leaving him feeling weightless.

He opened his eyes slowly, her petite arms wrapped around him tightly. He could feel her warm and snug against his front, his hands and face wound in her hair. He realized he was laying on her all at once, and jolted up onto his hands abruptly. She was crying, the warm heat of the fire working to dry a trail down her cheek, her eyes glassy with more tears.

She read the panic on his face and reassured him quickly, “I am fine, come back.” His heart returned to a normal pace and he wiped his thumb over her cheek. Her lashes fluttered closed under his attention, another droplet sneaking out to meet him. “You are magnificent Geralt, it’s the babe that makes me emotional.”

Deep purple greeted him once again and he settled on the fur next to her. She tucked her body into his, the hearth warming her back. They were quiet a long while, savoring the feel of each other and the heavy feeling of satiated bodies.

He had almost nodded off to sleep when she spoke. “Geralt?” He hummed in response. “I don’t know how to thank you for bringing her here.”

He tipped his chin down to kiss her forehead. “Should have done it a year ago, your father be damned. Sleep soundly Yennefer, your family is safe here.”

She let her fingers drift over the dimple on the back of his hip. “ _Your_ father has been acting a bit strange since she arrived. He isn’t upset by her presence is he?”

“I think he is the opposite, and sniffing at her skirts like a horny old goat. She will set him straight my love, nothing to worry about.”

They both smiled as they pictured the tongue lashing he would earn himself.

———

-Tissaia-

Rain poured for what seemed like days, puddling in the streets of the village and creating a muddy mess. Tissaia sat at Yennefer’s table, wiping down the boots she had borrowed from her daughter. The afternoon sky was dark, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Cirilla played before the hearth, and Tissaia joined Yennefer in the cushioned chairs.

Two wooden horses raced each other along the rushes as Tissaia pulled a velvet pouch from the pocket of her dress. “Daughter, this is your inheritance. Your real dowry. Your brother doesn’t know it exists, and I would never tell him. It is yours to do with as you please.”

Yennefer took the pouch, and poured out a small handful of brilliant gems. Stones that she recognized from the hilt of her grandfather’s mighty sword. Tissaia had never allowed Vilgefortz to take it with him on campaign, but Cahir would no doubt attempt to wield the weapon. Before she could ask, Tissaia explained. “He carries false stones. Your grandfather has no doubt rolled in his grave to see your father’s foolish greed, and Cahir’s insolence.”

Tissaia unhooked a small, delicate chain from her neck and laid it atop the pile. The pendant was a stunning pear shaped emerald, one that would look devastatingly lovely with Cirilla’s brilliant eye color. “Your blacksmith works fast and very elegantly.” She watched Cirilla with a soft smile. “For my granddaughter.”

“Oh, mother, they are wonderful. How clever of you. I will keep the pendent aside for her. “ She leaned to kiss Tissaia’s cheek. “You must know that what is mine, is Geralt’s. I will tell him of the stones.”

“I assumed you would, and I hold no reservations. I have seen what he has done for his people and for my daughter. I trust him.” Her admission earned her another kiss, and Yennefer rose to hide the pouch amongst the jars and vessels high on one of her shelves.

“Sit with me? Geralt’s chair is large enough for the both of us.”

Yennefer eased into the chair next to her, and Tissaia skirted her hand across her belly. Smiling, Yennefer moved her palm to feel the press of a small foot. “I am so glad you are here mama.” Her lip quivered, and Tissaia knew she was thinking of her dear friend. Apprehension over a first birth was more than natural, and her loss made her all the more uncertain.

“Our Nenneke will see you through. She watches over you even now, along with your gran.”

“Auntie Nen is watching.” Cirilla reinforced for her matter-of-factly, looking up from her toy. They had done their best to help Cirilla accept the loss, and to help her understand that Eskel needed some time to himself.

“Come sit on your gran’s lap, and bring that blanket if you please.” Cirilla and one of the horses joined them, along with her soft rabbit.

Geralt found them in much the same manner when he crept across the room quietly, pulling the blanket aside and tucking it securely around Cirilla and her grandmother. He extricated his wife, who could sleep through just about anything as of late. Tissaia woke and he explained, “Her back.” She nodded and watched him carry her to their bed before nodding back off to sleep, her arms snug around the little girl.

\------

-Geralt-

“Father, why are you telling me this? If Yennefer’s mother wishes to patronize the blacksmith’s shop, what am I to say about it?” It was a particularly dreary day, and Vesemir wanted to work through some frustration, so they sparred.

Geralt hadn’t done the math, but he figured his father was nearly fifty years of age, and yet he was impressively fit. The wet wood of the widest dock slapped underneath his bare feet, boots divested to produce bruises instead of broken bones.

Vesemir huffed. “Well, I think she is getting just a little too comfortable here. “

A fist flew past his face when Geralt barely dodged it. His father had been the one to teach him to fight, and yet he could still surprise the younger man.

“When Yennefer arrived,” he parried the next hit, “you encouraged this. What has your trousers in a twist? Oof - !”

Vesemir landed a quick jab and smirked. “I knew Yennefer would not carry on with the damn blacksmith!”

Geralt stopped to catch his breath, the air thick with fog. “If he asks me for her hand, I’ll grant it.” Geralt left his tone serious, intent on gauging Vesemir’s reaction. Geralt’s feet left the dock and he plunged, ass first, into the cool water. His tunic and boots remained dry on the wooden planks, as his father looked down at him.

“You’re after her!” Geralt accused, treading water.

“Possibly.” Vesemir deadpanned.

“Pull me up old man.” Geralt reached his arm up, hoping to avoid swimming back to the shore.

“Promise me you will ask Yennefer what her mother says about me.” He countered.

“Are you jesting? How old are you?” Geralt couldn’t believe his ears.

He leaned over the edge of the platform. “Old enough to know when I’ve found a woman of quality. I have spoken to her a hell of a lot more than you did Yennefer, when you made her your bride.”

His father spoke the truth. He sighed. “I will ask Yennefer if she could forgive you for pursuing her mother and see where that gets me.” Vesemir pulled him onto the dock, a chipper smile on his face.

\------

-Geralt-

As they prepared for the winter, so did all of Odin’s creatures, much to the horror of his daughter. A wayward field mouse had scurried inside behind one of them, and Cirilla nearly lost her head when she caught a glimpse of him dashing across the floor.

Cirilla had developed a sniffle, and Yennefer insisted she rest for the day instead of going with her to the hall to be around the other children. Geralt was caught up on his responsibilities, so he turned down Essi’s offer to stay with her and planned to spend the day with her himself.

Yennefer hadn’t been gone an hour, and she was barricaded up on the table top, every last one of her toys with her and a terrified look on her face.

“You don’t fear the slimy fish, nor the large spiders that send your mother running for the hills. What is it about a little mouse that has you so – .”

“Oh papa, he runs and hides!”

“He is scared of you, daughter.”

“Please, shoo him out before he crawls into my bed!”

“Alright now, enough tears.” He dashed the moisture from the corners of her eyes. “I’ve a birthday gift for you that will solve this issue.” He picked her up, grabbed their cloaks and carried her outside, beyond the range of the mighty mouse.

They walked to the stables and he hoisted her up onto his horse, climbing up behind her. He spun her around so she faced him. “Hide your face from the cold air, you are supposed to be resting.” He didn’t add that he feared the wrath of her mother should their exploits worsen her sniffle. He draped his cloak over her back and she held tight to his chest.

Their ride wasn’t far, and she poked her head from the coverings when she heart the bahh of sheep. Arne came to greet them, and they dismounted, her hand in his as he guided them to the barn. In the far corner, a spotted cat lay with her roly-poly pile of kittens.

“You may choose a kitten for yourself Cirilla. He or she will grow and learn to hunt the mice you so desperately fear.”

She looked from him to the kittens in wonder. Arne clapped Geralt on the shoulder and asked after Yennefer while Cirilla petted each and every kitten. “She is well, though her back ails her.” Geralt admitted. Arne offered a salve his own wife used for the same complaint, and a kitten was chosen.

They rode back slowly, his daughter tented underneath their cloaks. Tiny, razor sharp claws poked through his tunic as the scared kitten wriggled across his abdomen. He ventured a peek under the cloaks, and four green eyes reflected back at him. Two belonging to the midnight black kitten under her hands.

They no more than crossed the threshold and she set the kitten down. “Go Raven! Go get him!”

\------

-Yennefer-

The first snow of the year was upon them, and she walked carefully through the slush filled streets, Geralt’s spare cloak wrapped securely over her shoulders. She made to walk into the tanner’s hut when she heard whispers and catty tones. It had been a long while since any of the clan had given her grief. Geralt’s protectiveness was practically the stuff of legends, and most wanting nothing to do with his ire.Lambert had been lesson enough.

“That’s where the harvest has gone, used to feed the Saxons!” The man who spoke was old enough to know better.

She knew why they were upset, and her husband was working hard to find a solution. A sudden blight had ripped through the fall harvest, and their food stores for winter were in dire straights. He was working on a trade deal that would see them through, and she had every faith that he would figure it out one way or another.

She ignored them and entered the hut to pick up the boots she had commissioned. A new pair for Geralt, his having worn almost clear through the sole, and a new pair for Cirilla who’s feet were growing every day it seemed. The third and final pair were terribly small, and almost fit in the palm of her hand. He wrapped the boots in a cloth bag for her so she could keep them a surprise, and she wished him a good day.

The group of men were still outside, and they were no less upset when she left.

“How many Vikings will starve to feed that one fat Saxon wench!”

“The ole’ Jarl must really be in trouble, can’t see his own people’ll starve. Time to bring a challenger who’ll lead his people and not his merry band of women.”

She knew they were so bold only because she was alone. She blew her anger out through her nose and walked past them confidently, as though she hadn’t heard a word. The first man went to grab her bag and she froze, breaking her silence. “Touch me and he will take your hands.”

Her reminder was all it took for his arms to snap back against his body. She carried on and tried to forget them as she returned home. Lean times bred hate, but their lack of confidence in Geralt’s ability to recover from their misfortune bothered her.

\------

Eskel wasn’t clear on exactly what she asked of him at first. She cornered him after the morning meal and wanted to speak to him in the kitchens. He rolled her gems between his fingers as though he had never seen such brilliance. In all likelihood, he never had.

“If things don’t go in Geralt’s favor and he is unable to secure the grain from the northern clans, I would like you to use these. Only tell him if you must, he will be upset with me.”

He smirked. “That right there tells me I should not proceed with this plan Yennefer. Do you not trust your husband?”

She gasped, “Of course I do!” He was baiting her.

“I have heard whispers, of ill confidence in his ability to resolve the situation. I would never like to hear that again, he does not deserve it.”

Eskel’s eyes narrowed, “Who said such things? Are you well? Have you told him?”

It was her turn to smile. “I am fine, and no, I didn’t see the need to remind him of the weight on his shoulders. The men were scared, and they acted like children. I do not fear them enough to name them.”

He looked back to the gleaming stones.

“We won’t see these again. They’ll be traded to the corners of the world.” He warned.

“So be it. My husband has done for me since I arrived here. I will help him.” Her tone meant business.

“Alright, I understand.” He did not want her getting upset and end up responsible for triggering her labor. He tucked the pouch inside his cloak.

“Thank you my friend.” She took his hand. “Now please walk me back so I don’t slip on the ice and land like an upturned turtle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s your mouse jmjd! ❤️


	22. Hovering

-Tissaia-

“What happened to her face, will you tell me?”

She walked with Vesemir through the village, Yennefer’s borrowed boots on her feet. He tactfully guided her around slushy puddles and past anyone who might gawk at the newcomer.

“It’s no secret, one of the young boys threw rocks at her during a rare moment when Coën nor I was with her. I sutured her cheek and she asked he not be punished. When Geralt returned from fetching Nenneke he scolded him mightily and sent him to work off his crime in the kitchen aiding the women. His late parents had poisoned his mind with hate.”

She was appalled. She wrote nothing of it in her letters, and to think her daughter had endured such hatred made her stomach ache for her.

“The boy lives with the Völsung clan now, and has a chance to turn his life in the right direction.”

“I’d like to give him a slap myself.” She huffed, while he hid his grin.

They made their way through the front gates and walked along the outer wall, where some of Geralt’s men ran drills and sparred in the brisk air.

“I don’t know what she has told you, but you should know that her adjustment here was not as smooth as we hoped it would be.” He took her hand and told her of the brutal arguments between she and Geralt, about the secret tea that nearly broke his heart, and Yennefer’s desperate attempt to escape them that _did_ break something inside his son.

They stopped and Tissaia listened, her hand over mouth and tears threatening to dash down her cheeks. “It was guilt, for leaving me there, I know it.”

“I did not tell to you upset you, but so you would know what they both overcame to be where they are. In truth, the bond between them is something I have never seen before.”

She dabbed her tears and gathered herself. “Your late wife?” 

“We cared for each other, but I didn’t know pain until I lost my son. Hel took my youngest when he was only two summers, an illness that weakened the foundation of the entire clan. Geralt’s closest brother resides in Valhalla, a mere sixteen when he drew his last breath on the battlefield.” He cleared his throat. “Yennefer and I talked at length in the months following her arrival, and I know you suffered in the same manner, your eldest.”

She took his other hand, rough from hard work, in her soft ones. “Life is precious, and we have both learned not to waste it.” Wisdom reflected in his eyes, along with something she never thought she would see again.

“I daresay you’re right.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. She remained still, and he withdrew regretfully.

She took his arms and spun them so she was hidden from the men behind his broad frame. “I _am_ a lady you know. I have my reputation as Cirilla’s gran to think about.” She stood on her toes and kissed him firmly, her fingertips lost in the fabric of his tunic. He smiled against her lips before returning her embrace.

When she rested back on her heels, her hands had woven themselves in the tips of his snowy hair. “Just how old _are_ you gran?” He asked earnestly.

“Well,” she gave him a stern look, “it is entirely improper to ask a lady her age. Seeing though, as I’ve just pulled my tongue from your mouth, I suppose I’ll tell you. I’m thirty-seven.”

He smirked and gave her a squeeze, his heavy arms resting against her back. “ _Young_. Wait until the craggy old goat farmer sees what a lovely young lady I’ve snatched up. He’ll be jealous for days.”

“Oh _your_ lady am I? A bit presumptuous are we?”

“Not at all, like you said, I just tasted your tongue.” With that he bent on his knees and tossed her over his back, carrying her back toward the main gate.

She squawked her outrage and smacked her fist against his back. The clang of swords diminished and a round of applause broke out amongst the men. “Oh! Put me down you great oaf, they are _watching_!”

“No,” he grinned, “they’re jealous.”

\------

-Geralt-

“Geralt, do you want me?”

They laid together in their bed, his warm body wrapped around hers. He raised his head from the pillow at her question.

“Always, Yennefer. What is troubling you?”

She turned slightly to face him and his lips danced over her shoulder, left bare by her loose shift. “You have only desired to sleep as of late. Maybe you are tired of your wife, now that she is the size of a mountain.”

“Don’t say those words.” He kept his voice gentle, mindful that she was revealing her insecurities to him. “I will never tire of you, you know this to be true.” He brought her hand to his lips. “That little mountain is our child, and it only makes you all the more irresistible.”

“Then don’t resist me.” She slid her hand over his hip and down his thigh.

“I would not hurt you my love.”

“You wont, I need you.” The desperation in her voice proved his undoing. He brushed the hair from her neck and nuzzled his beard against her sensitive skin. Her pleased hum encouraged him and his hand found the warm skin of her thigh below the thin material of her shift. He trialed the rough pads of his fingertips up and down her side, swooping low across her breast until her nipple strained to meet his touch.

“Geralt,” she pleaded, wrapping her hand over his and guiding him between her legs. “You do this to me husband.” He cursed, her words and the slick coating her thighs filling his mind with lust and his small clothes with a sizable erection.

She pressed his hand to her folds and whimpered, sliding her leg back and over his to give herself more room to rock against him. Her free hand clutched at the underside of her pillow when he gave in and curled his fingers under her hand. She rolled her hips desperately against the heel of his hand, and he could barely believe how little it took before she began to quake against him.

She worked herself to a fevered pitch before she bent forward and a shout burst from her lips, muffled by the pillow she clenched tightly. “My beautiful queen.” Geralt murmured into her neck, flexing his wrist to extend her pleasure.

“More, Geralt. _Please_.” She reached back to trace the outline of him through the thin cloth and he couldn’t help but buck his hips against her hand. It had been some time for him as well.

“You will pinch me if anything - .” She nodded quickly, before he could finish, her focus only on him getting his small clothes past his waist. He freed himself and she pulled her leg forward, twisting her upper half as much as she could to watch him enter her slowly, already coated in her slick.

He slid most of the way inside and she keened, having missed the feel of him as much as he had her. He tucked his arm below her head and she rested against the inside of his elbow, his lips brushing her temple as he set a slow, shallow pace. She moaned in pleasure, relief, and he shushed her softly.

She couldn’t control herself, and the volume of her cries only increased with the rhythmic sound of his skin on hers. He moved his hand to cover her mouth gently and she kissed his palm. He pressed a wet kiss to her temple while her hand followed his across her body. His hand gripped hers against her belly as he picked up the tempo and wove a tapestry of honeyed words between kisses.

“My perfect wife,” he whispered, and she hummed. “Made for me, a tempting gift from the gods,” she moaned, her lashes fluttering shut. “So sweet, so tight,” she clenched around him and it was his own strangled shout that burst through the quiet of their room.

She turned her shoulders and pressed her lips to his. His languid kisses swallowed her moans, arms holding her tight and hips driving her steadily to the edge of the precipice. Their clasped hands snuck between her legs and he released her grip, the gentle pressure of his palm over her fingertips on her sensitized skin enough to stoke the fire in her to a fevered pitch.

The arm that wrapped around her shoulders eased over her mouth again, muffling her plaintive cries as she pushed back against his hips. He quieted his own bellow into her hair, his lower half operating of it’s own accord and the warmth of his release settling deep within her.

They laid together a long while before he pulled away and she sighed mournfully. He left the bed and returned, a strange smell wafting to her nose. She peered over her shoulder to see him dip two fingers in a small amber jar, and warm the thick liquid between his hands. Before she could inquire, he brought his hands to her lower back and began massaging her sore muscles.

Arne’s salve tingled on his fingers, before turning to a pleasant, warm sensation. She rolled her hip a bit to give him better access, and he could swear she moaned louder than she had when he was inside her. He brought his grin to her shoulder while she stifled her groans into the pillow.

Long after she relaxed under his hands, she leaned back against him and gave a satisfied sigh. He wrapped his arm around her, and pressed the velvet pouch she had given to Eskel into her palm. She looked back at him questioningly, before pouring out the four gems remaining. He had checked himself to make sure she kept the necklace for Cirilla, and that she wore her mother’s still.

“I did not intend for your to lose your inheritance because we were unlucky enough to have a bad harvest.”

“You did not intend it, but it was what needed to be done. What’s mine is yours, and you could have taken them from the jar yourself.” She reminded him, replacing the stones and cinching the bag.

He shook his head, he wouldn’t do that to her without asking.

“Our people will thrive because of my wife’s selfless act.” He rested on the pillow and pulled her close.

“Our people lived long enough for me to feed them, due to my husband’s bravery.” She squeezed the hand that rested on her belly.

———

-Yennefer-

Walking helped to ease the pressure on her spine, and they had taken to walking the long way through the village when they traveled. Their boots crunched in the snow, but the air was mild with the warm sun that shone on them brightly. Geralt had begun returning early before meals, and he was simply around more often. She knew he was hovering over her out of worry, but she enjoyed the extra time they spent as a family.

Her left hand was warm in her deerskin glove, held gently in Geralt’s right as they ventured out for the noon meal. Cirilla clutched her right hand, kicking little clumps of snow, her rabbit tucked securely under her arm as they went. Her sibling kicked Yennefer in the ribs intermittently, his or her hiccups having just passed. She closed her eyes for just a moment, savoring their presence, a smile tugging at her lips at the image they must create.

Cirilla’s hand yanked tight in hers, and she was pulled from her wayward thoughts. She stood quietly, her head tipped to the side, listening.

“What is it pup?” Geralt asked.

“He sounds hurt!” She was staring intently at the blacksmith’s shop, and was starting to get upset. She wasn’t wrong, Yennefer heard the whimpers as well.

Geralt opened the door, “It’s nothing, it’s just – .“ He trailed off when he recognized his father’s white hair, slumped over a bench on the far wall of the dark room.

“Oh!” Yennefer shouted as Geralt rushed forward to help him and she followed. Before he could reach his shoulder, Vesemir sat up quickly, and another dark haired head slowly righted herself.

“Mother!” Yennefer wasn’t sure if she was more shocked or outraged. She bent to cover Cirilla’s eyes and she pushed against her hand, having caught a glimpse of her Gran.

“Happy morning Grandpa, Gran. Will you come to eat too?” Cirilla was unfazed by the embarrassed looks on their faces. Yennefer narrowed her eyes, her mother was horrified, and Vesemir seemed…proud. They were both fully clothed, but the deep blush on her mother’s neck told her that may not have lasted long.

“Here, really father? Are you marking your territory like a dog?” Geralt shook his head.

Vesemir wiped his lip and smirked. “Says the wolf himself.” He dared Geralt to argue, not afraid to regale them with some of his own exploits.

Tissaia spoke up, watching Yennefer’s surprised expression closely. “No one is marking anything. We are going to the meal, all of us, as a family.” None of them moved. “Now.” Tissaia climbed from Vesemir’s lap and gathered herself, taking Cirilla’s hand in her own.

Yennefer was somewhat frozen, still in disbelief about what she had seen. Vesemir waved his palm in front of her face and she jolted back to the present. “Daughter. I take it my son did not see fit to tell you my intentions when it comes to your mother.”

Geralt wrapped his arm around her back and they followed Tissaia and Cirilla from the shop. “Not in so many words, no. The image too, was somewhat unexpected.”

“I feared the shock of such an idea might lead me to meet my child before nature intended.” Geralt defended himself.

Vesemir clapped him on the back. “Well, nature intends for you to meet her any day now, so I will go ahead and tell you that we are getting married.”

Yennefer’s step faltered and Geralt tightened his hold on her back.

\------

Surprise still coursed through her veins as they sat at the table, and she was unable to focus on the chicken on her trencher.

“I am sorry for not telling you.” Tissaia spoke rapidly, trying to alleviate her guilt.

“It’s alright mother, I just need to get used to it.” She squirmed in her chair, the ache in her back rapidly clouding her confused thoughts.

“I told you that your father was not a love match, do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.” She grimaced and rubbed the base of her spine.

“Mama, I don’t think I like this chicken.” Cirilla exclaimed from Geralt’s other side. Geralt turned to help her pull the meat from the bone.

“Are you upset Yennefer? The last thing I wanted was to upset you.”

Something wasn’t right. The hall was full of boisterous conversation, jests and stories, and they all mixed to fill her senses and overwhelm her. She had no interest in her food, and she wished her mother would stop pressuring her for approval at that very moment.

She started to feel warm, and she blew out her breath through pursed lips. She turned to Geralt to advise him she would return to bed, when he stood from his chair unexpectedly.

Geralt held his mug of ale high and the room quieted. “I’ll have you all know, that the bread you put in your bellies just now, is there thanks to my wife and her mother.” His voice was deep and confident, commanding the eyes of everyone in the room.

The pain in her back returned, swirling over her hips, and she pressed her fingers to the pain.

“Despite the fact that she has not yet received the respect she deserves from _all_ of you, my wife gave everything she had to keep your families fed.” He gave a pointed stare and she knew Eskel had informed on her bullies.

She closed her eyes and tried to distract herself from the pain, and when she opened them both Eskel and Coën watched her with worried expressions.

Geralt could not see the discomfort etched across her face from above. “Even after the hateful loss of her friend, she fights for you. So think of that the next time a cruel or fearful thought comes to your mind, and be proud that you are fortunate enough to call her your clan.”

Her gasp was lost in the cheer that followed, and the chants of “ _To Yennefer of Ravndal!”_ and “ _To the Wolf and his mate!”_ filled the room as mugs clanged together.

He looked down at her proudly, just in time to notice the pallor of her face as her violet eyes rolled heavenward.


	23. Ally

-Yennefer-

“Yennefer!”

He was worried, she could tell by the tone of his voice. She opened her eyes to the ceiling of the hall, Geralt’s hands cradling her face and her mother’s panicked expression looking down at her. She could see beyond them to the underside of the table, she laid on the floor. She didn’t need to ask if he had broken her fall. Vesemir worked to hush Cirilla’s scared whimpers.

“I’m alright.” She tried to sit up and only made it to her elbow when pain cascaded from the top of her abdomen downward. She rubbed her belly with her thumb and blew out a shaky breath, trying to keep calm.

“Her pains have begun. She must have had an attack.” Tissaia offered.

“Yennefer?” Geralt was spooked.

“She’s right, I think it’s just the baby.” She reached to pet his cheek and he kissed her palm. “Take me home husband.” She didn’t need half the clan peering over their shoulders to determine her ailment.

He tried to carry her and she insisted on walking herself, his arm underneath hers and their pace cautious. She could hear Vesemir behind them, explaining to Cirilla what was happening.

“And then I’ll have my sister?” She asked, sniffling.

“Well, maybe you’ll have a brother,” he offered, “but yes little one.”

“How does she get out of mama’s belly? What is it like in there? Can I see?”

In any other situation Geralt would have been shaking with laughter over his father’s attempts to answer such questions, but he was focused, determined to see her safely through. She imagined he had planned this moment not unlike a battle, strategically preparing for every eventuality.

They cleared the kitchens and she stopped on the step leading to the street, liquid running down the inside of her thighs. She pulled up her skirts in dismay, “The lovely boots you gave me, blast.”

“No, no more walking.” He scooped her up before she could protest, the condition of her boots the farthest thing from his mind.

\------

-Geralt-

Tissaia was surprised when he didn’t allow her to shoo him from their bedroom. He took part in the begetting of Yennefer’s pain, and he would see her through it. There was nary an area on her body he had not caressed with his mouth or otherwise, so he did not see the benefit of keeping him from her.

Coën’s wife Sabrina waited in the main room as a precaution, her training with the Völsung healer all but complete. Renfri brought fresh water and well-wishes, bending to whisper to her and give her a brief embrace.

He finished with the hearth and raised his brow questioningly when she took her leave. Yennefer smiled, “She wishes a healthy boy for me.”

“I am surprised that Margarita’s star pupil would not lean toward another fierce shield maiden for her posse.” He wondered.

“She wishes it so we may have one of each, husband.”

He took her hand and pressed his lips to her forehead. Vesemir and Essi entertained Cirilla away from their home and Tissaia waited just outside the door with Sabrina. She had asked for the room to be warm, and though her shivers seemed more from the pain, he peeled his tunic off and obliged. The dressing gown she wore was loose and thin, and he would make the room feel however her heart desired.

Her fingers clamped around his and she sat up, grimacing. Hel, if she wanted the room to smell of lilacs, he would march up the snow covered mountain and dig them out for her. She blew out a heavy breath slowly, the sound distracting her and soothing his nerves.

He reminded himself that her body knew what to do. He had seen animals give birth, and it was impressive, amazing really. She whimpered and it reminded him that the stakes were higher this day. Much, much higher. He said a prayer to Ilithyia for her safety, Tissaia and Sabrina’s presence an extra layer of protection. He knew Yennefer was determined, a fighter, but Vesemir had not lied when he called her small so long ago.

She had been laboring for a bit over two hours, her mother in and out, when Vesemir poked his head inside. “May I visit with my daughter?”

“She is busy at the moment father.” The look Geralt leveled telling him he was not yet off the chopping block for his stunt with her mother that morning.

Vesemir expected such a response but pressed on, “Eskel needs a word. Völsung sent an urgent messenger.”

“It can wait. I’m not going anywhere.”

She patted his arm. “Go ahead, your father will hold my hand and distract me with the story of your own birth.”

He strode proudly into the room and Geralt brushed a kiss over the back of her hand. “I’ll only be a moment, try and break a few fingers, won’t you wife?”

She beamed and Geralt moved quickly from the room, intent on keeping his promise.

Vesemir gave her a reassuring squeeze and began his tale. “Well daughter, your puny husband was born in the middle of a night during a wild storm. And did you know, he emerged cranky and already brandishing a miniature broadsword?”

———

Eskel waited for him anxiously, and began speaking hurriedly just outside their home as the cold hit Geralt’s bare skin. “Emhyr is asking for assistance immediately. The Scylfing march toward his land at an alarming rate, their ranks bolstered by foreign warriors.”

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Her brother.”

“He thinks so.”

“The boy is all of seventeen, I thought we had more time.” Geralt cursed. Eskel shook his head.

“Emhyr is asking for _you_ , specifically.”

Geralt cursed again. _Now_ , of all times. He didn’t have to tell Eskel he was indisposed, nor could he ask him what he would do. His wife drew breath, and it was more than his friend had at the moment.

Eskel knew he was caught in the middle. “I wouldn’t put it past Emhyr to come after Cirilla if you refuse.”

Geralt growled, “Over my dead body.”

“Mine as well, but we must consider that eventuality.”

Yennefer’s cry interrupted them, and brought Geralt crashing back from the hypothetical. “Ready forty of the men, and half of Margarita’s women, her elite. I would ask my wife her opinion.”

\------

Geralt entered the bedroom to the sound of her shout. It was Tissaia who walked Yennefer around the room, her arm around her back as she bent over the dresser top. The pain passed and he could see that she was flushed, sweat beading on her brow. He smothered some of the fire and opened the window behind him some.

“Come with me lovely, let us give the children a moment.” Vesemir held his hand out for Tissaia and they shut the door behind them.

Geralt came up behind her, and he caught their reflection in her little mirror. He wiped her brow and wrapped his arms around her front, nuzzling his nose to her cheekbone. “You must leave, am I right?”

“It is the last thing I want to do. I will have your suggestion Yennefer.”

Before she could answer her muscles contracted under his hands and she gasped, her hand falling to clasp his. She groaned, fighting through the pain he wished he could take from her. Her face relaxed and he explained what Eskel had conveyed.

“You must go Geralt. He came to our aid, without him my father would have killed us all for his damnable greed.” Pride washed over him when she included herself with his people, their people. “Again, a member of my family allies with our enemy to bring destruction. Even if Emhyr does not retaliate against us for failing him, Cahir and the Scylfing will ride upon us next, and this time without Cirilla’s blood at our side.”

“I don’t want to leave you.” He felt like a child uttering the words, but he was desperate.

She wished to lay on the bed again, and he arranged the bedding around her securely. He traced her jaw and she took his hand in hers. “Go, my love. We will be here when you return.” She ran the pads of his fingers across her lips and ghosted kisses over them. “Kill that traitorous bastard Scylfing and return home the leader of two clans.”

The fire in her eyes made her request seem like child’s play. Her confidence in him was humbling. Another contraction came and went before he kissed her passionately, reluctantly grabbing his tunic and the heavy sword that rested next to the bed. Determined not to look back, but _come_ back, he headed through the door.

She shouted after him. “ _Alive_ Geralt. Return to us alive.”

He turned to his father who sat waiting with Tissaia and Sabrina. Vesemir nodded, knowing Geralt would bring the swift hand of retribution to bear on their enemies, and he would watch over her without question. “Yes hellcat!” He called, a wolfish smirk transforming his face.

He opened the door to see Eskel, Coën, and the warriors he requested, laden with weapons and ready to fight. Revenge for their losses would be granted. Geralt raised his broadsword to the sky and they roared.

\------

-Stregobor-

His Skylfing fighters traveled slowly, bogged down by their Saxon counterparts. Stregobor knew they had lost the element of surprise, and he hoped the additional fighters they brought would make the inconvenience worth it. If Emhyr sent word to his ally and the Wolf came to his aid, they would have a much harder time bringing the Völsung to heel.

He looked to his right and held back his scoff. The Saxon was hardly a man, and it would be no trouble at all to eliminate him once he ruled both clans. With Emhyr’s forces, the boy’s men and his own, he would finally be able to crush that pompous, bastard _Wolf_ for good.

\------

-Geralt-

They rode fast and light, the horses familiar with the terrain and their riders. Coën on this left, and Renfri on his right. Eskel was his best man, and he had no qualms about being left behind to protect the village with the rest of the men. He knew full well his post meant more to Geralt than any other.

Geralt and his riders climbed higher and higher up the side of a small mountain, the ground becoming rocky and unforgiving. The snow thickened the higher they rose, ice on the trees above them and thick white clouds pluming from their horses. They followed a lesser used trail and slowed when they were halfway to the peak. Coën held his arm aloft and the group reined in their horses.

They could see movement in the trees below, and Geralt recognized the Scylfing men in their dark green cloaks. They moved slowly, groups of brightly colored Saxon uniforms intermixed with the bigger men. Cahir’s men weren’t dressed for a Viking winter, the bloody fools. The Wylfing suffered heavily from the treacherous forces down in the valley, and he would see that the men who froze were already corpses.

He reached low to pull a small blade from his boot, yanked his tunic down and made a small cut on his shoulder. He hadn’t made time for paint, and this fight was personal. He painted a wide stripe across his forehead, and two below his eyes. Coën and Renfri did the same, the smell of copper tangy in his nose.

He turned to look at the forty or so men and women behind him, and was humbled to see every last cheek a bright red. He nodded firmly, and each man raised his fist in allegiance, their thirst for revenge and justice just as potent. The horses in the valley picked up speed, the riders at the front line breaking into a gallop.

The deafening noise of the enemy horses would disguise their approach, and allow them to attack from the side, where the invading force would be weakest. Geralt nodded and Coën split off from the group, taking fifteen of the men, Renfri and the women. They would ride around behind Cahir’s men and penetrate the other side, reinforcing Geralt’s main attack. Geralt spurred his horse down the trail, hoping they could prove the difference in the battle and prevent the loss of Emhyr’s women and children who would be taking shelter within his gates.

\------

The Wylfing forces crashed into Cahir’s men, Geralt’s mighty roar spurring them on. They came from the trees like wild apparitions, fierce shouts on their lips and rage burning in their eyes. Horses cried and men fell, the Wylfing blades swinging heavy, deadly.

Geralt tore through one man after another, looking for Yennefer’s brother. A boy of only seventeen, Coën’s description of him fresh in his mind. Blood sprayed over his horse as his foe lost an arm, his strangled scream silenced for the last time. He felt the momentum of the battle shift the moment Coën’s men bore down on the riders from the other side, and he moved quicker and quicker until he made out the same bright flag his father had traveled with. The bloody Saxon fools would never learn.

\- Coën-

“Surrender Cahir!” Geralt was moving closer, but the boy knew his face. “Have over and we’ll bring you to your sister.” Like hell Geralt would allow him autonomy, but the Wylfing didn’t kill solely for killing’s sake. His men were new to the country, and other than fighting for greed, they could bargain for their lives.

“Never, you heathen wretch!” He sounded like a child.

He was bold while his guard still stood, but soon enough Coën and the boy were face to face.

“Last chance boy, for Yennefer.”

“That chattel is no sister of mine, a weak whore who could not keep her legs closed for –“

Coën’s sword met the hollow of his neck and he fell from his horse gracelessly. Geralt’s horse pounded past his enemy and he took in the scene. Coën slid the saddle bags from Cahir’s mount and added them to his own, something for Yennefer and her mother.

Geralt nodded in approval, sheathed his sword on his back and changed direction. He plowed through baying horses and fallen men, headed to the front of the hoard, looking to end his bitter rival once and for all. Stregobor was a cruel bastard, known for taking sick pleasure in mutilating his enemies, and subjecting his prisoners to heinous and unthinkable tortures. Vesemir had tried to eliminate him years ago and failed, but anger pushed him forward on this day.

He followed the screams coming from Emhyr’s men, and lo and behold, the sadist himself sat atop his horse, bodies piled in the snow beneath him. Geralt rode up behind him, threw his leg over the pommel and leapt from the saddle, dislodging Stregobor from his own and bringing them to the ground with significant force.

He pinned Stregobor down and choked him from behind, earning himself an elbow to the diaphragm. He wriggled free from Geralt’s hold and stood, “I was hoping I’d get the pleasure of maiming you today _Wolf_.” His snarl matched his scarred face.

Geralt kicked his boots out from under him and punched him in the face, Stregobor’s return another solid hit to Geralt’s middle. They both scrambled out of the red stained snow and stood, even in stature, before Stregobor reached for his hatchet. Geralt watched the weapon carefully and didn’t see the handful of fine, white sand that he retrieved from the pocket on his other hip until it was flying toward his face.

He pulled his sword and squinted, trying to clear the debris from his vision. Geralt blocked the high arc of Stregobor’s axe, but never saw the dagger he pulled until it dug against his throat. His mind went blank and simultaneously raced, images flashing at lightening speed. _Yennefer, Cirilla, Yennefer, the baby, Yennefer, his father, Yenne –_

The dagger went slack in Stregobor’s grip, and with a look of utter surprise, he slumped down Geralt’s chest. Geralt blinked his eyes clear, taking in the Wylfing dagger buried in his back, right through his heart. Renfri closed her palm twenty feet away, and nodded as Geralt pulled the weapon from his limp form. She returned to fighting alongside her partner, and Stregobor’s second came tearing after Geralt next.

The battle raged brutally until it became clear that the Wylfing and Völsung forces would prevail. The Saxons gave up first, mercenaries without passion, and the younger Scylfing warriors eventually followed. He found Emhyr, who was beyond grateful for Geralt’s arrival. Emhyr hesitated, and Geralt stopped him short.

“Do not ask about her. You forfeited that right. My daughter is well, and the heir to her clan once again.”

Standing amongst the bodies of some of his best warriors, Emhyr could not argue. Coën approached on horseback, “Go Geralt, Emhyr and I will finish things and we will return home.”

He needed no more encouragement than that. Geralt tore into Emhyr’s stables and picked the fittest, freshest looking beast he had. Coën and the others would bring his warhorse back and settle his debts, neither of which he could wrap his head around at that moment. He dug his heels and aimed the horse home, to his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Warpaint, like the tattoos, I have seen opposing opinions on whether or not they used it. Geralt did here, cuz it was badass. I am thinking the Patriot with Geralt’s attack plan lol – ghosts! XD


	24. Papa, Again

-Vesemir-

He would have permanent hearing loss, he was sure of it. Her cries rang in his ears even more vibrantly than Visenna’s had so many years ago. She had been a tall woman at sixteen, her features and bone structure bigger than Yennefer’s even at her young age. She had struggled with Geralt and his two brothers, and he would admit he was worried for Yennefer. Geralt’s line was one of wide shouldered, hearty babes.

“Your distraction please.” She ground her words and squeezed his big hand.

He was mindful of her mother perched at the foot of the bed when he began.

“When I found Geralt’s mother, she was on fire.”

Yennefer’s horrified expression told him he had chosen the correct tale.

“I pulled her from a burning hut while on a raid, under the old jarl, your baby’s great grandfather. Even as I pulled her from the flames, she fought me, scratching and biting her way back to a father who had been the one to ignite the hut in the first place.”

Tissaia gasped, and Yennefer’s questions began.

He smiled and answered her. “At the sweet age of fifteen summers, she refused her father’s dictate that she marry one of his best warriors, and instead gave herself to the clan’s young horsemen to defy him. Angered that her virtue was ruined, he sentenced her to death.”

“ _Oh_!” Yennefer shouted, panting heavily. “Tell me that bastard met your blade.”

He smirked. “He did, only hours later. Visenna kicked me, stole my horse, cut my beard while I slept, and all before the next morning. We were married within the week.”

It was Tissaia who spoke up. “There certainly seems to be a pattern with you _wolves_.” She leaned to bring a cool cloth to Yennefer’s face.

“And a pattern with the stubborn women of Essex.” He raised an eyebrow.

Yennefer went again, her face scrunched in pain, every muscle in her body tense.

“I thought to tell you this now daughter, to remind you that my wife did not succumb young to childbirth, but battle. As much as it may feel to the contrary, you will make it through to cuddle your babe. Your mother and I will both pray to ensure that it is truth.”

She took a small sip of the cool water Tissaia offered, patting his hand, before her face contorted in pain and she felt the urge to push.

\------

-Geralt-

Eskel’s guards saw him coming at a great distance, the horses’s hooves pounding a rapid staccato matched only by his racing heart. He careened through the gate with only inches to spare on either side of his boots as it opened slowly. He pulled the reins to an abrupt stop at the stables, threw his leg and and was halfway across the dark street by the time Eskel shouted for him. He turned to hear his news, a wild, unsure look in his eyes.

“They live.” Eskel clapped him on the shoulder.

“Both?” He had to be sure.

“Your wife and the babe are in good health. Slow yourself, you’re liable to stir everyone up in there.”

When he entered their home, no one sat in the main room to greet him. He opened the bedroom door slowly, and the breath he had been holding finally seeped from his chest. Yennefer slept peacefully, Tissaia asleep in the bed with her. His father sat close, his posture relaxed and his arm wrapped around a small bundle of blanket.

Geralt walked closer and Vesemir smirked, his voice low. “It’s about time you came son. With all the screaming and swearing, I would have thought we were back to when you were first married.” Vesemir joked, but the point was lost on Geralt. He watched her chest rise and fall softly, her sleep exhausted but peaceful. He looked back toward the blanket.

“Would you like to birth the next one old man?” Her voice was scratchy, and her eyes fought to open.

Both men grinned. Geralt reached for the water pitcher by the bed and brought the cup to her lips. She took it gratefully, brushing her hand over his for a long moment. “My husband has bathed in blood, I hope it does not belong to my people.”

“A few injuries, but everyone who left shall return.”

Tissaia stirred when he leaned to give Yennefer a firm kiss. She held his gaze when they parted. “Then the Wylfing are ahead Geralt, because we have a healthy boy.”

Satisfied that she was alright, he turned and Vesemir handed him the small bundle carefully. He felt light as a feather, but the handoff jostled him enough that he made a small whimper.

Tissaia kissed Yennefer on the cheek and crawled from the bed. Vesemir pressed a chaste kiss to the other, and a whispered, “Thank you daughter.” They closed the door softly behind them and Geralt sat next to her on the bed.

The baby began to fuss and Yennefer watched as he pulled the blanket back to get a better look. Geralt’s hand dwarfed the boy’s small frame. Fine wisps of light blonde hair and bright blue eyes peered back at him, ten fingers and ten toes, and one mighty howl. Geralt couldn’t hold back the smile that overtook his face.

He whimpered and cried with all his might, miniature fists clenched in frustration. Yennefer untied the string holding the neckline of her shift and Geralt settled him in her waiting arm. Geralt was reluctant to let him go, his hand warm on the baby’s side as he squealed and whined the discomfort of a hungry belly.

It took them a few tries, but his fussing eventually ceased and he suckled away hungrily, staring at Geralt as though he was responsible for the eviction from his warm home.

Geralt pressed his lips to her temple and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment. “You did so well Yennefer. Thank you my strong wife, he is perfect.” He sent a prayer to Eir for her health, and Freya for his child.

“Thank the gods you returned to us.” She laid her hand over his on the baby and leaned into his chest. “Cirilla will be anxious to meet him, what name will he carry?”

“You will name the next?” He smiled.

———

-Cirilla-

“Why can’t I see mama?”

“You can pup, but she is sleeping. She needs a lot of rest.”

Geralt sat with her in his big chair by the hearth, his daughter on his leg and his son under his arm. Her kitten lounged by the fire licking it’s paws.

“How come you picked a boy? Don’t you like girl babies?”

He rubbed her back patiently. “I do, you are my baby girl. We didn’t choose a boy, these things are decided by the gods.”

She peered across his chest into the blanket at the sleepy eyes of her brother. “What is his name?”

Geralt smiled. “Magnus, it means big and mighty.”

“But papa he is little, and pink!” He whimpered when she raised her voice slightly. She returned to a whisper, “He’s pink and he’s cross with me.”

“He is sleepy like your mama, they have both been through an ordeal. Not unlike the day you lost your shoe in the creek, you were awfully pink and teary yourself.”

She pondered his comparison. A pudgy arm poked from the blanket and she traced his tiny fingers tentatively before they wrapped around hers. “He’s fat.” She deadpanned.

Geralt smirked. “He will grow into it. He will get bigger and run and play with you, and you can teach him to fish and to give Raven treats.”

“As big as me?”

“Maybe even bigger.”

“He will reach the sweets in the kitchens and grandpa’s high books? How long will it take, ‘till tomorrow?”

———

-Yennefer-

A full night’s sleep was a thing of the past, but she would not trade time with her family for the world. They had all learned too well how precious life was, and would do their best not to take it for granted. At four weeks, Magnus was a blessedly calm baby for the most part, his outraged screaming reserved for hunger, and only if his mother slept longer than he thought was necessary.

Cirilla decided that even though he whined and couldn’t use the privy on his own, that it was alright he stay with them. He slept peacefully in his wicker basket, the lining soft and his belly pleasantly full, next to his sister in the center of their big bed. Cirilla was missing some of their attention and Yennefer hadn’t the heart to make her fall asleep in her own bed if she missed them. Magnus would wake and Geralt would carry her up the stairs when Yennefer saw to his needs, and that was the way of things for a while.

Coën returned with Cahir’s bags and Tissaia and Yennefer went through them together when she was feeling up to it. Tissaia grieved his loss for a while, but she was not surprised to find out he had betrayed them and refused to save his own life.

When she pulled her father’s ring from the bag, she handed it right over to Yennefer for Magnus. A snarling wolf ironically swirled around the band, and she smiled when she thought of his old war moniker. Rather than be taken prisoner, he had sunk his teeth into the throat of his would-be captor and had been called the _Wolf of Essex_ until he fell in battle some years later. Fate was a funny thing.

Geralt returned from delivering firewood to a young mother who lost her husband during the attack, and she greeted him at the front door, his skin chilled and her lips hot. He nuzzled his cold nose to her warm one and her lashes fluttered shut. “They’re sound asleep. I would take a few moments of fresh air.”

He watched that she tied her cloak securely from the corner of his eye, she didn’t have to look to know his eyes were on her. Yennefer stepped outside, leaving the door open a crack and pulled in a cleansing breath. For as much destruction as the winter could bring, it was a time to huddle inside in the warm embrace of her family, and for that she appreciated the cold wind and the steady snow that began to fall.

A howl from off in the distance grabbed her attention, and was shortly followed by another, this one much closer. She struggled to see the flat from the ground, and she walked quickly to a nearby wagon. She climbed up over the axel carefully and peered above the wall, out into the distance. Sure enough, a black shadow appeared on the tree line, just at the edge of her vision.

“Geralt!” She whispered loudly, knowing he would hear.

He appeared in the door with a muffled curse. “Yennefer, that wagon’s almost rotted through, get down from there before you hurt yourself.”

“Look husband.”

He stood next to the wagon and wrapped a precautionary arm around her legs. He shielded his eyes from the snow and another howl brought his attention to the flat where she pointed. The wolves from the mountain left the woods slowly, the female scanning the surrounding area for predators and Yennefer’s big white wolf strode tall and proud.

Her arm fell to his shoulder, he’d gone without a cloak, “Oh, Geralt, _look_.”

“I see.” He smiled. Two grey pups tottered along under their feet, sticking close to their mother, yips and squeals so quiet that Geralt thought he imagined them. The male stopped and looked back, pausing to retrieve a third pup, the last one white as the driven snow.

“I’m so happy for him.” She breathed, unable to tear her gaze away.

“I’m jealous.” He quipped. “He got _three_.”

“Uh!” She smacked him on the shoulder lightly and he buried his face between her thighs with a playful growl, picking her up and over the side of the wagon before depositing her on her feet gently. They walked back inside and she hung her cloak, turning into his arms and tucking her face against the hollow of his throat.

“I suppose,” she began, “if you’re a very good wolf, you might someday get a third.”

———

\- Norway, 905 A.D. -

The spring thaw was overdue when it came, the winter long and harsh. The food stores that Yennefer’s Saxon gems purchased proved essential to their survival. Geralt worked to rebuild the Scyfling clan into one of moral repute, one they could trade freely with and trust. Emhyr and the Völsung remained grateful for their rescue, and the Viking alliances were stronger than they had ever been.

Yennefer walked slowly up the gentle hill, fresh green grass under her feet and one of Geralt’s older soldiers trailing behind her at a respectful distance. She approached the wooden marker slowly, the first visit the weather would allow her. Magnus wriggled against her chest, peering from the cloth wrap she wore to see his first glimpse of the land his people called home.

She knelt before the marker, unbothered by the grass against her skirts. Removing one of her soft, deer skin gloves, she reached out to trace the intricate designs carved into the wood. She knew what most of them meant, _wife, mother, friend,_ and lower, _beloved child._ She tucked her lip and covered a wave of grief with a gentle smile.

“Happy morning my beautiful friend.” She leaned forward and wrapped a thin, narrow scarf around the width of the wood. “Cirilla helped me embroider this for you, she has remembered the stitches you taught her.”

She sat back on the grass, and pulled the wrap so the baby could see more of their surroundings. Static pulled a few of his fine blonde hairs straight and made him look a bit comical. “You’ve been gone almost a year now, and heavens I’ve missed you. This one is four months and full of mischief and smiles.” He gave a sharp whine and tried to gnaw on her hand, “and his father’s appetite”. She repositioned his legs so he could feed.

“You’ll have another niece or nephew soon, Sabrina is carrying. Our Renfri has become a fearsome shield maiden, she saved Geralt’s life.” She traced Magnus’s brow with the pad of her thumb. “You will scarce believe it, but Geralt’s father and my mother have taken up together and we’ll have a ceremony any day. She says he makes her feel like a young girl again, so I cannot fault them for finding happiness.”

“Fever spread through a few parts of the village in the dead of winter and took a few clansmen, but you should know that we made the white willow bark tea you always spoke of and it saved a little boy’s life. His mother is beholden to you, as am I. I told her I wouldn’t be the woman I am today if not for your love, and you know it to be true.”

Magnus finished and she laid him over her shoulder and rubbed his back. “Your Eskel still mourns for you both heavily, but we are careful to include him and keep an eye. We’re doing our best without you, and I’m praying you’ve met up with my gran and Jaskier, he was always quick with a laugh for you.”

She heard rustling behind her and turned to see Geralt and Cirilla approach, carrying a bouquet of spring buttercups she must have stopped to pick. “Here comes our girl, and in one of the lovely dresses you sewed for her.”

Geralt reached for the baby and she handed him up, his slight size even smaller against his father’s broad chest. Cirilla hesitated before laying the flowers at the base of the wooden marker. “Your auntie would love those Cirilla, how thoughtful of my girl.” She wrapped her in a tight hug.

They stayed a bit longer before Geralt held his hand out, helping her to stand. She pressed a kiss to her palm and brushed it across the wooden carvings, holding back tears as Cirilla watched her and did the same.

“Come along my babies, we must meet your gran and help with her dress and the chores.”

Cirilla walked between them, her steps wide to make up for her short legs. “Grandpa says I don’t have to do my chores, because I’m a fancy lady.”

A laugh rumbled in Geralt’s chest, “He does, does he?”

Her tone was very matter of fact. “Yes. I’m to tell you, and not to say it was he who told me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last one, but the Epilogue is on the way!


	25. Viking

- **Epilogue** -

-The Seer’s Cave, Geralt-

“Are you not happy, a boy?” She twirled a long string of pearls between her elegant fingers, shadows cast over her covered eyes.

He grunted. “Cirilla is my heir, and even so, you know I would have been pleased with either.”

“I do.” She was enjoying wasting his time. She tipped her head up and paused, seeing nothing, but sensing they were not alone. “Come forward little mother, I won’t bite…hard.”

Geralt whirled in surprise to see Yennefer walking cautiously along the cave wall. His nostrils flared and his heart sped to a trot. She had followed him. Philippa was unpredictable, she put herself in danger.

“Calm down jarl, why would I hurt her? I have been on her side from the first moment she set foot on Wlyfling soil.” Yennefer closed the distance on the gravel floor and stood next to Geralt. “She brought death, but much less than had she remained across the ocean. She has woven balance within your clan.”

Philippa turned her head curiously. “I thought I would be rid of your problems when you settled Wolf, but now I see that united you will only bother me twice as often. The little ones, are they your reason for seeking my advice?”

Yennefer spoke, her voice confident, even though Geralt knew fear mixed with her awe. “Of course they are, along with the rest of the clan under our care.” She swallowed, “Some warning of the blight would have been helpful.” Yennefer couldn’t help herself.

Geralt put his arm over her middle and less than subtly tried to scoot her behind him. In place of her wrath, a bark of laughter jolted them both on their feet.

“I should have known your wit had not faded when you ceased your murdering attempts on this oaf. You are fortunate I’m feeling generous, here you go.” She spoke as though she offered them something, but they were met with silence until he felt Yennefer lean hard into his back. He turned, only to watch her slip down the side of his body to the ground.

**———**

_-_ **Norway, 907 A.D. -**

-Cirilla-

“He needed a good punch. How is that wrong?” Cirilla threw up her hands.

At almost eight summers, she wasn’t quite sure what the big ordeal was with her hitting one of other boys who came for her mother’s lesson. The son of a fisherman, he had insulted her, and she retaliated. It was terribly simple in her mind.

“What did he do that warranted violence?”

They walked through the woods together, moving slowly to avoid the extra sound their boots would make in the snow. Cirilla’s long ashen hair was braided carefully down the front of her shoulder, no doubt her mother’s work. They dressed in layers of warm wool and wore fur capes, Cirilla’s cheeks pink in the frigid air. Their horses were tethered a ways back, and they each wore a quiver to support the bows in their hands.

“He said my bow was puny, and that _I_ was puny.” Her whisper was harsh and irritated.

He stopped and she mimicked his action.

“Well are you? Puny?”

“Papa!” She hissed. “Of course not! Mama’s archers can shoot a fly from a horses’ rump at any distance, and I’m to be one! Grandpa made my bow and it’s straighter than anything that oaf has.”

Ahead of her he smiled. Yennefer’s archers _were_ terribly skilled. She was not one to sit idly by and let others do for her, and had transformed her skill into an elite group of archers who gave the Wylfing village a wave of defense that all other clans lacked. Geralt found additional admiration for her task as she could perform it from the safety of the wall, but he wouldn’t be hi-lighting that fact for her any time soon.

“If these things are true, why did you hit him?”

She didn’t have a quick answer.

Geralt continued. “If he underestimates you, use it to your advantage. He may grow to be twice your size. You must be twice as smart.”

She lowered her head, he was right.

“Did he tear?” Geralt couldn’t resist, a wry grin on his face.

“ _Three_ tears.”

“That’s my fierce pup.” He tugged on her braid affectionately.

———

-Geralt-

Geese flew overhead and they each took aim, dual arrows soaring high in the clear blue sky. Both arrows hit, and two birds dropped rapidly. Cirilla took off after their pray, her small boots making quick work of the frozen marsh, while Geralt nocked another arrow and waited. Another team of geese took flight and he felled two more.

He turnedin the direction Cirilla had gone, and realized all at once that she had tracked their prize all the way across the pond. “Cirilla!” he barked, “Come back!” They hadn’t checked the thickness of the ice, and the winter had been somewhat mild until a week or two before.

She stopped and put her hand to her ear, unable to discern what he shouted. “Come ashore, it’s -“ The ice gave under her and she disappeared, the splash barely noticeable.

He ran, as fast as his legs would carry him, throwing his cloak over his head and violently kicking off his boots. He charged up the bank, white plumes of air puffing from his mouth before he hit the ice and slid across it. He righted himself and ran until the ice gave under his greater weight, about ten feet from the small hole she created.

His lungs burned and his skin stung with what felt like a thousand knives, the water absolutely frigid and pitch black. He surfaced, dragged in a deep breath and plunged back under the water, his strokes powerful even clothed as he searched for her. He surfaced once more before grabbing ahold of her cloak and hauling her up behind him.

She coughed and sputtered and cried, but she breathed. Memories of her mother’s once blue lips slammed into him and he shoved them back, there was no time to make himself sick. He dragged her back across the ice and through the frozen cattails.

He whistled for their horses, the sound broken by the shaking of his hand, both from adrenaline and the cold. “Take off your cloak pup, it’s no good right now.” He tied her horse to his and returned to her tears, her fingers wouldn’t hold the cord.

“Alright, it’s alright, you’ll be hale.” He peeled her sodden cloak and left it in the snow with their bows, shoving his feet into his boots. He lifted her into the saddle and climbed on behind, urging the animals forward.

“Our bows papa!” Her jaw was chattering.

“We’ll come back later. Here, press close to me and try to keep warm.” He pulled his cloak around her and urged the horses faster. He had to get her home and dry, as soon as possible. She was quaking against his chest, and he would loathe to admit it, but shivers wracked his frame as well.

———

-Coën-

Coën knew something was wrong when Geralt didn’t wave, and Cirilla was in his lap. The gate was already open and he shouted for one of his men to fetch Sabrina. His heart dropped when he realized there was ice in Geralt’s hair. He burst into the hall ahead of them, shouting for Essi to light the fires and ready the bath.

The hall had been quiet, it was still early in the morning when he took her from Geralt’s arms atop the horse and carried her up to Tissaia’s old room. Geralt strode in behind him, ignoring the violent shake of his shoulders and the burn of his face from the wind on their ride. Sabrina entered through the kitchens, Magnus on her hip and his mother close at her heel, days away from meeting his sibling.

-Yennefer-

“What happened?” Yennefer asked, the women following him on his march up the stairs.

He answered as he walked, worry speeding his steps. “She fell through the ice in the deep pond on the east side of the marsh. She was under a while, but I don’t think she swallowed much.”

She called to rouse her mother when they reached the corridor, and they found Coën holding Cirilla tightly in front of the hearth. She chattered against his shoulder, her pale hands clutched around his neck and her clothes soaking his.

“Mama!” She reached for her and Sabrina stopped their embrace with her free arm.

“Wet clothes off little one, come now.”

Geralt stepped aside as men came with the tub, and Essi and her apprentice filtered in with kettles ofpiping hot water. “Not too hot,” Sabrina warned, “we must warm them slowly.”

Yennefer pressed a kiss to Cirilla’s forehead and turned to untie Geralt’s sodden tunic. He tried to evade her and she grunted, “She is being helped husband, you are next.” He tried to help her but his hands were useless. She gasped when the normally golden skin she uncovered was so pale that it looked blue.

Tissaia bustled in and held back her cry when she realized they were both soaked to the bone. She knelt by Cirilla and pressed her palms to her cheeks. Magnus plopped down in his grandmother’s skirts, watching the adults work fastidiously.

Vesemir appeared in the door frame and Coën pulled him along behind to help the women haul the hot water. Sabrina wrapped a warm wool blanket around Cirilla once her clothes were set aside, and Yennefer had Geralt down to his small clothes. She ran her hands over his arms rapidly, “The tub husband.”

“Her first, it’ll cool if I’m in it.” He countered.

“Geralt, do as I say!” her hands fisted, “ _Please_.” He wanted to argue but feared upsetting her further. She could tell he wanted to howl from the shock of the warm water on his skin, but he landed in the tub with a thud and blew air through clenched teeth.

Sabrina lowered Cirilla in the tub by Geralt’s feet, and she burst into tears. “It hurts mama!” She wailed, reaching for her.

“It’ll be alright, my brave girl.” She leaned as far over the edge of the tub as her belly would allow and held her hand while Geralt ran handfuls of the warm water down her legs. Finally she relaxed into his hold and laid against his chest.

Coën and Vesemir carried away buckets of lukewarm water and brought warm ones, until the bath was a comfortable temperature, and Yennefer poured handfuls of warm water over her head. “Mama, I’ve lost my cloak, and my bow, _and_ my goose.”

“Those things can be replaced sweeting, my baby girl cannot.”

“Unless the new baby is a girl?”

“Not even then. No one can take our love from you Cirilla.”

Tissaia and Vesemir each gave their granddaughter a kiss before Vesemir scooped up her brother.

“We’ll watch over him at your home, keep your energy for your pair of wayward hunters.” Tissaia reassured her. Vesemir squeezed Geralt’s shoulder on the way to the door, remembering all too well how useless he felt when his younger boy was sick.

Coën brought the last of the hot water, and Sabrina went with him to fetch some tea, leaving the three of them. When Cirilla was sufficiently warmed, Yennefer wrapped her back in the wool blanket and sat her by the hearth to dry.

She bent over the tub to nuzzle his face, “Thank the gods you were able to pull her out.” He nodded and sought her lips. How a man who always radiated such heat was suddenly cold to the touch, she could not fathom.

“I’m sleepy.” Cirilla yawned.

“We’re all going to have one of mama’s naps today, even papa.”

Cirilla seemed pleased, her father less so, but he dared not petition otherwise. Sabrina returned with Nenneke’s recipe for willow bark tea and a thoughtful pile of clothing for them. Geralt dried and changed his wet small clothes for dry and joined them in the bed, wrapping himself around her back the way Cirilla was woven around her front.

Tissaia and Vesemir watched over Magnus while they slept, and Yennefer didn’t wake until it was time for the evening meal. Geralt’s arm was wrapped around her middle, his breath ghosted across her cheek. When Cirilla coughed, her heart dropped. She coughed again, and Geralt stirred against her back. He propped himself up on his elbow to check on her while Yennefer rubbed her back.

“She will be alright.” He knew already that Yennefer would be worried.

“Gods, I hope so.”

———

Cirilla coughed, and Geralt burned with fever. Yennefer watched over them both, holding Nenneke’s tea and urging broth down Cirilla’s sore throat. She dabbed cool compresses to his forehead and wrung a cloth of cold water over his chest, splitting her time between each side of the bed.

Geralt mumbled and tossed in his sleep, and Cirilla coughed until she barked. Yennefer was bent over Geralt’s chest, her eyes closing of their own volition when Sabrina slipped through the door. “Let us help you dear.” Essi followed her in and brought Yennefer a bowl of stew for herself, the evening meal already passed.

She took the food gratefully, but would not leave the room. She wasn’t hungry in the least, her worry clouding her senses, but she couldn’t take care of them if she didn’t mind herself and the baby. “Our parents are alright with Magnus?”

Even though he was two summers, she hadn’t been away from him for what seemed so long. “Oh yes,” Essi reported, “sound asleep in your bed. Though he did whimper for his mama a bit.”

Sabrina examined them both carefully. “Cirilla’s cough is still shallow.” Yennefer waited nervously for the rest. “That’s a good sign. If she doesn’t develop a fever very soon I think she may be just a few days with it and off on her merry way.”

Yennefer nodded, grateful for the promising news.

“I think we should separate them. Keep Magnus with your parents, and allow Essi to watch over Cirilla at your home.”

Essi spoke up, “Between your mother and I, we’ll have constant care for both of the children.” 

Though she loathed to be away from her, Yennefer began to understand Sabrina’s intent. Geralt was _ill_ , and she had already been around him the entirety of the day. “You and I will see that Geralt makes a full recovery.” Sabrina suggested.

“I can’t ask that of you, to put yourself at risk. You’ve your own daughter to go home to.” Yennefer shook her head, she could care for Geralt.

“Rubbish, you need help, and my mother has Astrid well in hand. Geralt had help when you were sick, and with a babe, you’ll take my help even if you don’t want it.”

Sabrina meant well, but bringing up her desperate attempt to end her life so long ago only washed shame and guilt over her. She was most certainly overwhelmed, between her worry for them and the pains she had been hiding, the mention of her mistake threatened to crumble her determined attitude. She simply could not afford to break down, they needed her. There was no one she trusted more with her children than Vesemir and her mother, and with Essi’s help, Cirilla would have constant attention.

Yennefer turned to Essi. “You’ll send for us at any change, no matter how small?”

“On my life.”

Coën appeared in the doorway and bundled Cirilla in his arms for the second time. She woke, and Yennefer gave her a kiss, telling her she would get to spend the night with her Gran. They left with her, and took a part of her heart with them.

“Thank you.” Yennefer pulled Sabrina close, so grateful for their friends.

“You would do the same for me.” Sabrina’s smile was kind, and she was not wrong. 

Sabrina helped her roll him on his side so she could bathe his broad back with cool water. He murmured in his sleep, and she knew all too well the nightmares that were probably flashing behind his eyelids. His father would be beside himself with worry when he found out about Geralt’s condition, having already lost a son to illness.

She bathed his brow and caressed his cheek, his scar reminding her that it was certainly not the first time he had put others before himself. The Gjallarhorn in his back was not in symbol only. Time and again he would test his limits for them, unbothered by the consequence to himself. Someone once told her that was simply a father’s love, but she knew first hand that it was not true of all fathers. To her he was special, one of a kind, the man to whom she would measure all others against until the end of her days.

“Alright husband, I’ve had enough of your theatrics.” She spoke under her breath. “You’ve proven your point, and if there is to be a disaster every time one of our babes is due, this’ll be the last one.” Thick salt and pepper lashes fluttered slightly, and she knew he dreamed. “Did you hear me Geralt? You’d best wake and argue your heart before I decide such a thing without you.”

———

-Geralt-

He pulled at his chained arms as hard as he could, the stones behind his back hot as lit coals. He tried to sit up, but heavy weights rested on his shoulders. He wanted to give up, to abandon hope and the let the evil demons have their way with his soul, but the screaming kept him tethered.

He knew those screams, that voice. “Yennefer!” He tried to call for her, but no sound came.

He heaved with all his might, pulling desperately at his restraints until they were no more, and he tumbled from the superheated stones. He landed on thick planes so cold they may have been made of ice. He crawled in the dark, toward the sound of her pained cries. He moved for what seemed like ages, when his shoulder impacted hard with a massive tree.

Hel would toy with him, keeping him from her. He groaned, putting his weight into the tree until it fell away. He drew deep breaths, trying to restore his strength, his body heavy and still burning from the stones.

Her cries became more guttural and he knew he had to press on, his body aching with exhaustion. He crawled on all fours across the icy plane, immense effort earning him only inches worth of progress. Sweat dripped from his brow and his hands slipped in it, making his travel all the more fruitless. Another cry, this one choked away to silence.

“Yennefer!” He wailed, this time his vocal chords awoke and obeyed him.

“Geralt!” She cried.

He began again to move, but his legs were like lead. She knew he was there, and he failed her. He tried again, terror in his heart, afraid of what would be left of her when the demons were through.

Suddenly, big, meaty hands grabbed at him, urging him back. The demons pulled him away from her, and he fought. The least he could do was occupy them, to give her respite from their torture. Their hands were made of ice, and he bucked and rolled as hard as his useless body allowed.

She gave one last cry as he struggled, and the high pitched wail of an infant filled his senses. _Gods_ , _no_ , they had his child. He clawed and pitched, tears pouring freely from eyes that saw nothing but shadows. When all was quiet he went slack, gave himself over to the demons that clutched at him. He had lost everything worth fighting for.

———

-Coën-

He waited in the hall with Vesemir, sharpening his blade and speaking in low tones. He could tell the older man was riddled with nerves, a state he had never seen him in before. He could imagine if his own daughter was ill, he would be in much the same condition. Not only was Geralt his son, but he, and now Yennefer, represented the heartbeat of the clan.

“Yennefer!”

Geralt’s tortured cry filled the empty hall and they both jumped from their chairs and bounded up the stairs. They found him half dressed and drenched in sweat, on all fours in the hallway, almost to Vesemir and Tissaia’s door. Sabrina stuck her head past the door and gasped when she saw him.

“She’s pushing, I left him asleep only for a few minutes.”

“It’s alright Brina, we’ve got him.” Coën took his shoulder and Geralt bucked him off. Yennefer called for him and he crawled, like a blind moth to a flame. Sabrina disappeared again and it took both men to return Geralt to bed.

Vesemir went for the wet cloth and Coën examined the broken door jam. Geralt gave up his fight and sank into a fitful sleep. “He couldn’t walk, but he took it clear off the hinge.” Coën touched the splintered wood in amazement.

Vesemir cleared his throat. “If you thought Sabrina or Astrid were in trouble...”

Coën understood. He’d crawl through Hel and back for them, wooden door be damned.

———

-Yennefer-

“Yennefer?” Sabrina’s melodic voice roused her from sleep. “His fever’s broken, you can see him now.”

Yennefer stood carefully from the bed, the sky beyond her window beginning to darken again. Sabrina answered her next thought before she voiced it. “The first thing out of his mouth was to ask about Cirilla, and I think she is almost wholly better, alright to be around the children. Tissaia is bringing them after supper.”

Sabrina handed her the baby, all of six hours old. She named him Edward, a Saxon name, but one her dear friend had confided to her that she admired. He had even more hair than his brother had when he was born, dark as night to match his dark blue eyes. There would be no mistaking mother and son.

She walked slowly, holding him tight to her chest. She could hear her husband being difficult before she even entered the room. “Well then, where _are_ they damnit?”

“Half of us are here husband, cease your bellowing. Cirilla and Magnus will be up to visit with their Gran shortly.” She stood in the doorway and his shoulders sank with relief. Vesemir peeked inside the blanket on her way to the bed, and Geralt held his hands out when she approached.

He looked so much better, the golden hue of his skin beginning to return. His eyes were sharp and his hold steady when he took his son. His voice was a mere whisper, “Odin’s beard, he looks just like you Yennefer.”

“And yet, Edward is a Viking.”

He settled the whimpering bundle against his chest and she eased onto the mattress next to him. He wrapped his arm around her and she leaned into his shoulder. “So is his mother.” His lips found hers and Vesemir stepped out to give them privacy. She was reluctant to let him go when his lips left hers. “I am so sorry you had to do this alone, _again_.”

“You pulled our daughter from death’s grasp not so many days ago, I think we both gave our devotion and pain to our babies.”

“He is as handsome as his mama.”

“Maaaaa!” Magnus squealed from the doorway. He leaned in Tissaia’s arms, and Cirilla ran for her father. The children were introduced to their new brother, and Tissaia got a turn to hold him.

Cirilla climbed on the bed and held Geralt by the neck, whispering in his ear. “I’m sorry I walked on the pond papa.”

He nuzzled his face into hers. “I’m glad you’re alright pup. We all make mistakes. We won’t make the same one twice.”

Yennefer brushed her hand over Cirilla’s forehead and combed her hair with her fingers. “How is your cough baby?”

“Almost well, Essi and gran let me have honey to soothe it. I had quite a few coughs.”

Yennefer smiled, knowing her penchant for sweets. “I’m sure you did.”

“Hunnnniiieee.” Magnus crooned, his face buried in her throat and his little fist reaching wild for Geralt’s hair.

“I shared a bit, it was only fair you see.”

“That was nice of you. Have you any honey left for a second little brother?” Yennefer asked.

She thought carefully, and Vesemir came back to wrap his arm around his wife, both of them enraptured by their newest grandson. “Grandpa, “ Cirilla spoke up, “I’ll need help planting more flowers, will you join me?”

“I’ll always join you Cirilla, but what for?”

“We’re going to need more bees.”

———

-The Seer's Cave-

Geralt's worried bellowing echoed in her ear and she winced. Yennefer pried her eyes open and Geralt pulled her to his chest in relief.

Philippa scoffed, “I _told_ you I wouldn’t harm her.” She turned and spoke to no one, “Desperate for my help but doesn’t trust me.” She shook her head.

Yennefer sat up and he brushed tiny stones from her cloak. Philippa sighed, “I forgive you Wolf, no man I have known is as weak for his wife as you.”

“Geralt, you mustn’t go hunting in the winter, - “ he gave her a look of confusion, “ and _oh_ , a little boy.” Yennefer beamed and Geralt tried to make sense of her words. “We’ll have another, with dark hair and the deepest blue eyes.”

A smile overtook him when he realized Philippa had given her a vision. She leaned up and covered his lips with hers, and he returned her embrace with joy until his hold on her went slack and he slumped in her arms. His dead weight pinned her to the ground and she was unable to rouse him, shooting Philippa a cross look.

“What? It’s only fair.” She quipped.

———

 _-_ **Norway, 923 A.D. -**

Geralt and Yennefer waited outside the main gate, hand in hand. They complimented each other in every way, right down to the way she leaned against him. His arm around her back eased the pain in her leg, and her shoulder against his took the pressure off of his sore knee. Neither old injury was evident to an onlooker, but it was blatantly clear that without one another, they hurt. They were better together, two halves of a whole.

“Our son comes home today.” She stated what he already knew, but he liked to hear it all the same. He brought her hand to his lips, deep wrinkles by his eyes as he smiled softly. Without her there would be no wrinkles, but such age marks were a small price to pay for twenty years worth of smiles and laugher.

The white hair at his temples had begun to grey, but Yennefer maintained that it only enhanced his allure. He had balked, seeking to appear fearsome instead of handsome. She kissed his cheek and reassured him that he was still the most terrifying Viking she’d ever come across.

Yennefer looked as youthful and vibrant as she had the day he married her. She complained of this wrinkle or that blemish, but he saw none of it. She led a team of archers, taught the clan’s children along with her mother, and raised Cirilla and their boys all while leading their people right alongside him. She hadn’t the time to be _old_.

They heard hoofbeats in the distance and he squeezed her hand. Magnus approached on a beautiful white stallion, who’s tail whipped in the wind just as brightly as his rider's platinum blond hair. He slowed the horse and dismounted with the grace of a mountain cat. Yennefer’s hand was pulled from Geralt’s when Magnus scooped her up and hauled her off her feet in his long arms.

He was the spitting image of his father, just as tall and imposing, but his mannerisms were all Yennefer. He squeezed her tightly before depositing her back on the ground, her lips finding his cheek. He spoke under his breath, “You look well mama.”

“I am well now that you are home.”

Neither mentioned the reason why he had returned from his post with the Völsung, the words didn’t need to be voiced. He had lived with their allies half a day’s ride away for the better part of a year, his nineteenth summer fast approaching. His role was two fold, to train with their legendary horses and to both educate, and learn from their warriors. Emhyr was getting on in years, and without an heir himself it was apparent that he would name Magnus his successor.

He released her shoulders and turned to band his arm around Geralt’s back, his father did the same. “How fares my niece?”

Geralt’s features lit up at the mention of his granddaughter as Magnus knew they would. “Our Ingrid is brilliant, perfect, just as predicted. You are here in time for her first steps, they’ll be any day now. To her, I am “pa”.” Geralt’s eyes twinkled with warmth at the thought of her.

Magnus chuckled. “What does her real papa think of that?”

Geralt bristled, “He allows it. Cirilla’s husband or not, he fears me as he should. He is “papa”.” He caught Magnus’s smirk and realized he had been baited, using one of the few little people that could rile him. “Welcome home, scamp.” He squeezed his son’s shoulder and they made their way inside the gate.

———

-Geralt-

Geralt led Magnus’s horse behind mother and son, a knowing smile on his face as she asked him one question after another in rapid succession. All the questions that crossed her lips in worry when they laid in bed at night would be answered, and she could worry about a whole new set of possibilities until his next visit. They arrived at the stables and Geralt could hear the uneven _thwap_ of two wooden practice swords echo across the open grass.

“Aye!” Magnus shouted, “Is that all you’ve got runts! Put your backs into it weaklings!”

The bigger of the two boys startled, recognizing his brother’s voice, and his young opponent seized the opportunity to spin and strike the back of his brother’s knees. “Rah-bert!” The bigger of the two boys whined.

“That was a low blow Robert!” Yennefer called, one hand on her hip and the other at her brow, shielding her vision from the sun.

“But he’s bigger than I, mama!” The mischievous smirk left Robert’s face. At twelve summers he was the youngest of his siblings, his golden hazel eyes and pouting lip often winning him the sympathy of their mother when they tussled. With chestnut brown hair and skin prone to a warm tan, he frequently tugged at Yennefer’s heartstrings as the _baby_ of their family.

That day it would be his father who made the point, “He’s right Yennefer, Arik was distracted, it’s only fair that Robert claim his victory.”

“I think they both deserve a good beating!” Magnus offered. Both of his brothers ran at him with full speed, their combined efforts toppling him onto the grass in a heap. Robert wrapped his arms around Magnus’s neck and Arik attempted to pin his legs to the grass. “You’ve grown runts, but you’re still no match for the thrasher!” He lobbed Robert off his back easily and freed his torso from Arik’s grip.

“I’ll show you a thrashing,” Arik growled, “I’ll bring my game board after supper and we’ll see who’s the _real_ runt!” Four years younger than Magnus, Arik had been their quiet, more inquisitive child from an early age. A blue eyed platinum blond like Magnus, he had been their earliest reader and the most sensitive of their brood.

“That’s enough!” Yennefer called, the smile on her face betrayed the censure in her tone. Geralt knew she was only joyful to have all their children back home to fuss over.

The boys gave up and issued their hugs, Magnus’s big hand ruffling Rober’t hair. “Where is he mother?” Magnus corrected himself from his seat on the grass, “Or shall I ask after Astrid and find him dutifully trailing after her?” He smirked.

“Edward is toiling away over that house as he always is.” Cirilla’s voice answered before Geralt or Yennefer could, and she walked from the hall, her baby on her hip. Geralt wrapped his arm around Yennefer’s back as she approached the boys, her stride regal and wise beyond her twenty-two years. Magnus stood, and even with his absence, Ingrid recognized him and reached for him. He settled her little body into his arm and Geralt thought Yennefer might melt right into the grass at their feet.

“My husband is surely with him.” She combed her fingers through Ingrid’s short blonde curls as her little hands covered her uncle’s cheeks. “They are still working on the East side of the roof. You know how particular he is when it comes to something for Astrid, each piece of straw must be in proper order.”

Edward, and Coën and Sabrina’s daughter Astrid had teased each other relentlessly as children. She would put salt in his milk and watch him choke it down under Geralt’s watchful eye, and wake to find frogs in her shoes. The hair pulling and slimy pranks ended when Edward hit a growth spurt, and suddenly he needed to duck his head to get through doorways. Cirilla found them stowed away in the berry patch not long after, lips swollen from kisses and guilty looks on their faces.

They were both sixteen, and it wasn’t long before Edward began to talk of marrying her. Yennefer lamented over their young ages, worried they hadn’t experienced enough of life to know their true hearts. Geralt thought they were a fine age, his own parents very close in years when they married, but he would not voice it beyond their bedroom. They decided that Edward may ask Coën for Astrid’s hand when he could provide for her. Once he could put a roof over her head, food in her belly, and see to her wellbeing and protection, they could move out on their own.

Yennefer thought their solution brilliant, giving her a year or two more to keep her baby in the nest of their home, but their boy was just as stubborn and determined as his parents. Clan members came out of the woodwork to help the children, and Edward worked night and day trading favors and negotiating for what they needed. A week’s worth of tending crops for the mason put in their hearth, and he and Vesemir split and planed much of the wood needed for the infrastructure. Yennefer wept when Cirilla’s husband Ulrik volunteered to help him construct the roof on their small home.

“He and Astrid will surely join us for supper, as his wolffish hunger has only grown with hard work.” Ingrid chose that moment to show her uncle both of her teeth and smack her palms against his cheeks excitedly. Cirilla pulled her hands away, “Be gentle baby girl.”

“I have this effect on women, it doesn’t begin only with my niece.”

Geralt and Yennefer walked to join them when Magnus’s horse was properly stowed. Arik busied himself prying his younger brother’s hands from his neck.

“You haven’t met the right one yet Magnus. Maybe she’s not Wylfing, or even Völsung.” Cirilla caught a glimpse of Geralt stealing a kiss from her mother. “Maybe she’s a Saxon princess.” She smirked. “You never know.”

Ingrid noticed Geralt over Magnus’s shoulder and kicked her feet, reaching her little arms for him desperately. “Paaa!” She squealed.

Magnus handed her over just in time for Edward to appear out of nowhere and plow into the side of him. Ingrid snuggled into Geralt’s neck and he rubbed her back soothingly. Ulrik had come with Edward, and stopped to give his wife a warm kiss.

Geralt had established an annual hunt for all the allied clans not long after the defeat of Stregobor’s men, and Cirilla had come home from it one year with a beau. Ulrik was a farmer, same as his father, but a rather skilled hunter as well. Each clan chose only a few to represent them, and he had been chosen on behalf of the Scylfing. At eighteen, Cirilla had been horribly embarrassed when she uncharacteristically lost control of her bow and shot him in the foot.

Ulrik had introduced himself to her through gritted teeth, and thanks to his thick boots, the injury would heal fully in the coming weeks. Cirilla had claimed she was wracked with guilt over the incident and begged Eskel to travel with her to his home and make another apology. What she hadn’t told him was that she found the man handsome. He was surprisingly well read, and wickedly intelligent. He was humble and kind, having set his own ambitions aside to care for his ailing father and run their family farm.

Yennefer was outraged to find out he was six years her daughter’s senior. Cirilla pointed out the difference in her parents ages. Geralt thundered about for a week, lamenting to Yennefer at night over their daughter’s loss of common sense. She was to rule the clan, she would do herself no favors choosing a simpleton farmer.

Ulrik visited the next week, besting Geralt in a game of strategy, politely pointed out a flaw in one of Yennefer’s historical theories, and proceeded to beat them both in a friendly game of archery skill. He claimed the wind had taken his arrow in a lucky shot and Yennefer began to have a change of heart. It wasn’t until Geralt observed Cirilla and he together that he entertained the idea of him courting his daughter.

They stood for her wedding ceremony, a mix of Yennefer’s tears and Geralt’s beaming pride, no different than if she had been born of their blood. There were some murmurings at the time that the Wylfing would be ruled by a Scylfing man and a Völsung born woman, but Geralt insisted their was no better way to reinforce peace among their people. His blood children were of Saxon decent as well, so he would entertain no further bigotry on the subject of bloodlines.

Magnus tossed Edward over and dodged his next blow. "When's the meal mother? I'm missing Essi's muffins something fierce." 

———

They all filed in for the evening meal, with one seat noticeably empty. Ulrik sat with Cirilla at the opposite end of the table as Geralt and Yennefer, each pair a fine balance of fierce tempers and kind words, passionate loves that burned hot and soothed compassionately. Ingrid sat on her father’s lap, a tattered cloth rabbit in her hand, happily munching away on the mushed carrots he offered her patiently.

Beside them sat Renfri and Eskel, the most skilled and dangerous pair of warriors in the Wylfing arsenal.Renfri had taken over Margarita’s position with the shield maidens, and even though he was older than most of Geralt’s men, Eskel remained his most lethal warrior. They found their way to each other the year after Edward was born, and though they had not been blessed with children of their own, they went above and beyond the call of their duties to help care for Geralt and Yennefer’s pack of little wolves. Eskel never forgot the love he held for his late wife and child, but he found contentment and a new love with Renfri that gave him purpose and a new reason to smile.

Coën and Sabrina sat next to them, along with their three daughters. Each one just as beautiful as the next, Astrid being the oldest, her hand held tight in Edward’s. Arik and Robert sat across the way next to Tissaia, who chatted amiably with Magnus about his time away and the fine Völsung horses.

She had been the first to notice that Vesemir’s energy seemed to leave him sooner and sooner each day, and had asked Sabrina to look in on him. Vesemir had blustered about but allowed her to examine him, her diagnosis simply one of a tired body. He had lived a long, active life, pushing himself to the edge of his physical abilities to his own detriment in some cases.

Tissaia had allowed herself time for soft moments and tears, until he had enough of seeing her sad and demanded she focus on the rest of the family. A match for him she’d always been, she told him just what he could do with his demands. If she chose to cry, it was his duty to dry her tears.

———

-Geralt-

Geralt opened the door to Vesemir and Tissaia’s room quietly, unwilling to wake him if he was resting. He sat in the chair next to the bed with a heavy sigh. Vesemir slept peacefully, but his breathing was uneven, stuttered. He stirred, as if he could sense Geralt’s presence.

“Is my grandson home?” His voice was tired.

“He is, they’re finishing the meal, he’ll be up to see you soon.” Geralt cleared his throat. “Before you ask, she is well. Quiet, but doing her best to make merry with the children.”

When his health had begun to decline, his first thought was of Tissaia and how she would fare, but he had Geralt's word that she would spend her days surrounded by loving family, and protected by a clan that respected her.

“Geralt, I’ll not die in this bed. Not if I’m to see your brother again.”

“The answer is simple, don’t go.” Geralt knew he was being glib, but it tore at his heart to see his father fade. A bastion of strength since Geralt was born, Vesemir had been his mentor, his idol, his rock. He had learned to rely on Yennefer once they were established, but even then, they both sought Vesemir’scouncil often.

“I agree with my husband, don’t go father.” Yennefer closed the door behind her and walked to stand next to Geralt. She brushed her hand across his shoulder before bringing the cup by the bed to Vesemir’s lips. He sipped from her gentle touch and licked his lips.

“Thank Odin I ended up with a doting daughter, when my son is only useful for giving me jokes and hassles.” Yennefer smiled and Geralt took his father’s hand as he coughed again. She bent to press a kiss to his forehead before settling herself on Geralt’s lap.

“I’m proud of you my boy, I hope you know that, and remember it once I’m not here to remind you.” Geralt nodded, the motion jerky as emotion welled in his chest. “You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you, fought in my name, raised a beautiful family and given of yourself for the good of our people. We are both blessed by the women in our lives, your headstrong children and the babes they’ve yet to have. A man can’t ask for more, and I won’t be. Do you understand my meaning?” Geralt squeezed his hand and Yennefer ducked her face into Geralt’s neck to hide her tears.

There was a knock on the door that shook them from their grief. Magnus poked his head inside, “Can I interrupt?”

“The prodigal son returns!” Vesemir smiled. “Come inside boy, and send the others up to see an old man too. Tell my granddaughter to bring me that little baby or I’ll put up a hell of a fuss.” Magnus laughed and Yennefer rose to fetch the others. She leaned low to kiss his cheek, whispering, “We love you so much papa.” She straightened quickly before he felt the tears, and gave Magnus a watery smile as she passed him.

———

-Cirilla-

When all the boys had come and gone, her parents and grandmother retired down to the hall to share stories and visit with Magnus. She was the only one left above stairs, and she sat alongside him, fussing with the bedding.

“You got all that fussing from your mother, pup. What happened to the days you would simply jump on the bed until your gran and I woke to play with you?”

“I grew up grandpa.” Cirilla smiled softly.

“That you did little one. Be a grown up for me and invite your gran to supper, ask her to your home to visit my great-granddaughter? She won’t want to burden you, but she deserves your happy moments.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Cirilla wasn’t having it.

“I’ll talk as I please young lady, I’m old and you’re not the leader of the clan just yet sprite.”

She squeezed his hand. “You’ve been loitering about up here just for the attention. I’ll help you dress and we’ll take a walk, the weather is warm.” She said the words, fully expecting him to dismiss her offer.

“Now _that_ sounds like a good idea. Help me up, I want to watch the sunset from the training yard.” She was stunned. “Please pup.”

Cirilla helped him sit up and pull his tunic and trousers over his small clothes. He’d lost weight, and they slipped right over the fabric. She added his cloak just in case, he’d been so frail the last thing he needed was to become ill from a cool breeze.

“And my sword.” He gestured to the broadsword above the bed.

“Now grandpa,” she began, thinking his little adventure was going too far. He gave her a look she knew well, and she pulled the heavy sword down for him. She carried the sword in his sheath on her back and helped him down the stairs, noticing that Mangus and the others had left the hall.

She helped him walk to the training field where the young soldiers of the clan spent countless hours training and sparring. They spoke along they way about Ulrik and Ingrid, until he became so winded that the effort of moving took over his concentration. He sat down on a bale of hay with a tired pant, looking out onto the open field.

“Pup, I don’t think I’m going to make it back in on my own, would you take pity on your old grandpa and fetch your papa for me?”

“Of course I will. Enjoy the fresh air.” She smiled and gave him kiss on the cheek.

She headed toward the her parent’s home and he called out after her, “I love you, Cirilla.” She shouted her reciprocation and he took a ragged breath.

———

-Geralt-

He approached the training yard with a heavy heart, dragging his boots, hoping Vesemir would not request of him what he feared. “You’ve more time, more to do. Let me take you back to bed.”

“You’re wrong son. I’ve lived a warrior’s lifetime twice over. There’s nothing more I can teach you Geralt. It’s your turn to be the old man.”

-Yennefer-

She had a sinking, terrible feeling when Cirilla showed up at their door. She walked her daughter home, gave Ingrid a goodnight kiss, and tore off for the field. Dried grass crunched under her boots as she ran, skirts in her hands and panic on her face.

She reached the fence in time to see Vesemir struggle to lift his broadsword, and bring it down heavily in Geralt’s direction. He evaded the weapon easily, but pulled the small dagger hidden in his boot. Yennefer plastered her hands over her mouth.

Vesemir swung again, this time his arc graceful, and Geralt jerked out of the way of the blade. Geralt kicked Vesemir’s feet from under him, catching him as he fell, the sword tumbling into the grass. Geralt’s arm wrapped around his chest and Vesemir said something to him she couldn’t hear. Geralt pulled his dagger from his father’s chest so quickly, she never even saw him raise his arm.

Vesemir slumped in his arms, and she could see her husband’s shoulders shake. She ran to him, tears streaking down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms around them both. “He is free husband, he is free.”

\------

-The Seer's Cave-

Yennefer sat with her back propped against the cave wall, Geralt’s shoulders in her lap, stroking his hair and waiting for him to rouse.

“I was sorry to see you lose your friend. If anything could have been done, I would have seen to it.” Philippa spoke as she lounged in her velvet chair, as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Thank you.” Yennefer didn’t look up from Geralt’s peaceful face as she answered.

Philippa turned in her chair, a wicked grin on her face, “He’s a beast, isn’t he?”

Yennefer’s eyes narrowed. “In what way.”

Philippa only continued to smile until a blush crept over Yennefer’s cheeks and down her neck.

“That’s what I thought.” She smirked.

Geralt twitched in Yennefer’s arms, a strangled sound from his throat, followed by a whimper. Yennefer looked up quickly, “What are you showing him?!” She tapped his cheek, “Geralt, wake.”

“His father’s death.”

Geralt’s hand squeezed hers and he groaned, golden eyes flashing to hers. There was a sadness in his expression, but his words were hopeful. “Four.” He reached his hand to frame her face. “My beautiful wife gifts me four strapping boys, and our brilliant daughter is poised to lead our clan to a prosperity like we have never seen.”

She was speechless.

“Yennefer, we’ll have a granddaughter.” She put her fingers to her lips and he held her tight. Geralt climbed to his feet and pulled her up behind him, righting her cloak and pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Now _go_.” Philippa urged. “I aim to spend the day sulking, as all I’m worth to you is a few strands of measly pearls.”

They walked hand in hand through the cave, until they reached the mouth and the sun temporarily blinded them. A wave of dizziness struck he and Yennefer alike, but it was only a moment before they regained their bearings.

Their horses were tethered close, and he checked her saddle strap before she mounted. “I cannot believe she was so unhelpful, even after you gave her the pearls.”

“That is the risk with her. On occasion her advice is worth gold, on days like today, she is full of sass and nothing of substance.”

He was relieved to see that her bow and quiver were strapped to her horses pommel, she hadn’t rushed off after him in haste. Philippa had been angered that Yennefer followed him unannounced, and she had been so ornery that she would not reveal a thing to them. It was just as well, as he was in a good mood, and didn’t wish to hear bad news.

He followed her down the narrow trail, until the trees thinned and she picked up speed. Her horse was an energetic young mare and it was evident that both beast and rider meant to challenge his stallion. They neared a straightaway and her horse broke into a gallop. She turned to tease him and he was struck by her beauty, inside and out, as her dark curls sailed behind her bright smile.

There was a crash in the woods to his right, flashes of white fur raced alongside them, and he was stunned to see black on their left. Hooves pounded and clawed paws soared, the horses miraculously focused and intent on stretching their legs. The group plunged out of the woods into a rolling knoll, her victorious laughter in the brisk air and the ridge high behind them.

She reigned her horse to a slower gait and he wheeled his stallion back around. The wolves were gone, vanished. “Yennefer, did you see them?” He was out of breath.

“See who?”

“Your wolf, the wolves were with us, running alongside.”

Her laughter ceased and she turned to peer back into darkness of the forest. “Damn! I’ve missed them.” She frowned.

“You haven’t missed a thing. He’ll be back.”

She directed her horse alongside his and they looked out over the hill, the vast array of snowy ground that belonged to them a humbling view. His horse shifted, and Geralt’s boot tapped hers.

“Do you know, Yennefer of Essex, that I think I’ll keep you.” He leaned as though he made to kiss her.

She arched her delicate brow and gave a wry smile. “To keep me, Geralt of Ravndal, you must catch me first.” She clicked her tongue and her lips slipped past his, her mare bounding across the gentle hill.

“Ah!” He called, a wicked grin on his face as he took off after her.

**\- FIN -**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Credits, a lot of them. Julie Garwood’s historical romance novels, quite a few concepts borrowed! The TV show Vikings, or at least the first few seasons, that I saw a few years ago. DarkGlowingLight for her enthusiasm on this topic and her Norse mythology suggestions! [Also her endless patience and ideas! She has been with me from the ground floor on this and many of the parts you readers mentioned liking best were her ideas!] Celtic marriage vows found on Pinterest :) LozaMoza for her support and help (the tattoo and shaving scenes especially!).
> 
> I don’t even know what to say about the wonderful outpouring of support from you all on this story! My most sincere gratitude to those of you who stuck with this and left me the most lovely, engaged, encouragement every single chapter. [You know who you are! ❤️]. I cannot forge ahead unless I know the story is being enjoyed, and you made that happen!  
> I have made so many wonderful friends in the course of this story - I owe this Geralt and Yennefer so much, and I will miss them dearly! <3


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